mmK' 


liMiSl^jiitKiic^tiiVAiVJ!-  <^S*^Ji>iWm 


yur  ^        ^ 


'"?ANCH, 

^"VLMOii  I    ,,    UALIFORMA 
LIBRARY, 

"UDS  ANGELES.  CALIF. 


BOOKS    BY    EDWAKD    DICKINSON 

Pcau.N.P  .T  CHARLIW  HrBIDNKR-g  80N9 


Matle  In    !»»•   Mtelorjr    of  tb*  WmIotii 

Church.    Cr  8vo "•<  WW 

Th«   S«uil>  of   lh«  Hlttory  of  Muik.    Cr. 

H.o -'  •=»  «) 

Th«  lUJucatlon   of  «    Mu»lc   I  o»»r.     12mo 

MutU  and  th«   HtfJicr  Iducatlon.     I'-'mo 

ntl  11  :>o 


MLSiC  AND  THE 
MIGHKR    KDICATION 


MUSIC  y\M)    II IF. 
IIIGIIKR  KOUCATiON 


BY 
EDWARD    DICKINSON 

or  mt  attToat  ahd  cmmcuM  or  mvuc. 


1       I    " 

NEW  YORK 

CHARLl  S   SCRIBNKRS  SONS 

I9»5 


Copyright,  igis.  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  April,  igis 


TO 

nt  aoNoaco  uuioct 
or 

FENELON    H.    KICE 

Di  (SATTrtn  •KCOGMrnoN  or  llt^  s<>i<i.r   <>tivics 

TO    HUtlCAL    ROttATIos     IS     AMUIICA 

THIS   Book 


I  conceive  art  to  be  not  an  applied  science,  or  a  branch 
of  industrial  t raining,  or  yet  an  extreme  refinement  of 
culture  study,  but  simply  an  in(li5|)cnsablc  means  toward 
the  achie%'cment  of  that  which  is  the  end  and  object  of 
education  —  namely,  the  building  of  character. 

— Ralpu  Ai>ams  Cram. 


CONTKNTS 

TRELUDE 
In  a  Colleuk   MiMi    Room i 

PART  I 
Tm  College  and  tue  Fine  Abts 9 

PART   II 

Music  IN   THE    CoLLK.r.f  76 

PART    III 

Tkaoieh  AND  Critic  :    His  Preparahon  and  His 
MCTUOD 134 


PRELUDE 

IN  A  COLLKC.K   MUSIC  ROOM 

In  his  (lc5crtc<l  classroom  the  "Professor  of  the 
HLstt)ry  ami  Criticism  of  Music"  (to  use  hLs  pon- 
derous and  inadequate  ofTicial  title)  was  sitting, 
opprr-isctl  !)>•  the  half-melancholy  that  comes  over 
one  who  realizes  that  the  year's  task  has  suddenly 
ended.  Nine  happy  months  had  flown  by  "on 
pinions  of  st^ng."  The  recollections  of  the  year, 
floating  in  the  atmosphere  of  an  art  which  sup- 
plants the  world  of  sha|>c  and  action  with  an  inner 
world  of  gathering  ami  dissolving  forms,  secmetl 
hardly  more  actual  than  the  phantasms  of  dreams. 
The  silence  of  the  building  scr\'cd  to  confirm  this 
impression  of  the  insubstantiality  of  the  past. 
During  the  hours  of  the  institution's  activity  thb 
lecturer  had  lx*en  dimly  conscious  of  a  weird  con- 
fusion of  sounds  from  pianos,  violins,  and  voices 
which,  in  spite  of  deafened  walls  and  fl(X)rs,  made 
a  hoarse,  muflletl  tumult  as  they  issuetl  from  the 
crevices  of  the  dtK)rs,  reverberated  in  the  corri- 
dors, and,  escaping  through  ojx'n  windows,  l)csieged 
him  from  the  space  outside.  By  \nrtuc  of  a  merci- 
ful provision  of  nature,  his  hearing  had  become 

I 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

indifferent  to  these  incoherent  vibrations,  and  they 
were  no  more  to  him  than  the  murmur  of  the  wind 
and  the  clamor  of  the  distant  streets.  But  now 
he  was  more  aware  of  silence  than  he  had  been  of 
noise,  and  the  withdrawal  of  what  had  been  a 
part  of  the  very  air  he  breathed  gave  an  impres- 
sion of  something  unnatural  and  ominous.  He 
caught  himself  listening  almost  anxiously  for  foot- 
steps that  did  not  come;  he  fancied  that  to  look 
into  the  dim,  deserted  corridors  would  start  a 
sense  of  fear,  for  a  sort  of  ghostly  presence  seemed 
to  lurk  in  them,  as  in  a  deserted  house  after  a 
funeral. 

As  the  moments  passed  the  occupant  of  this  soli- 
tude slowly  awoke  to  a  consciousness  of  the  exist- 
ence of  another  world  than  the  ideal  one  in  which 
so  much  of  his  daily  existence  had  been  absorbed. 
The  clatter  of  hoofs  and  wheels  upon  the  pave- 
ment, which  had  often  been  an  irritating  distrac- 
tion, seemed  now  to  have  lost  its  harshness.  He 
distinguished  human  voices,  mingled  with  the 
warble  of  birds;  and  as  they  were  borne  to  him 
upon  the  soft  June  breeze  they  lay  lightly  upon  his 
spirit,  in  soothing  contrast  to  the  stress  of  those 
tones  which  fatigue  the  mind  when  it  strains  to 
grasp  the  principle  of  order  in  their  whirling  forms. 
For  art  —  music  even  more,  it  would  seem,  than 
literary  or  plastic  expression  —  demands  of  her 
votaries  a  putting  forth  of  energies  of  which  they 
are  commonly  unaware  until  she  withdraws  and 
relinquishes  the  jaded  nerves  to  the  gentler  ma- 


IN  A  COLLEGE   MUSIC  ROOM 

nipuhitions  of  nature.  Then  reaction  comes,  an 
apathy  m«>rf  or  lev*  prolongitl,  until  in  place  of 
one  life  lost  another  life  Is  gainctl. 

It  takes  time,  however,  to  effect  the  reconcilia- 
tion. an<i  henre  the  closing  of  the  college  year,  so 
lon>?eil  for  by  the  weariol  brain,  brought  with  it 
that  depression  which  often  accompanies  a  slack- 
ening of  wontetl  energies.  With  the  removal  of 
the  former  tension  there  came  a  stirt  of  mental 
numbness,  so  that  even  the  anticipation  of  rest 
was  not  (ILstinrt  enough  t»)  give  positive  pleasure. 
'ITierc  w;us  a  confusion  in  his  mind  in  the  jostling 
of  vague  recollections  and  equally  vague  premoni- 
tions. He  felt  a  nec<l  of  readjustment,  but  his 
faculties  were  too  relaxc<l  to  spring  at  once  to  the 
seizure  of  the  new  occasion.  Habit  suggestctl 
continuc<l  labor,  but  the  silence  of  the  building, 
the  glare  of  the  June  sun,  the  flutter  of  the  lilac 
leaves  which  beckoned  to  him  over  the  window- 
Ictige.  the  revulsion  of  mood  after  the  good-by 
wortls  to  the  class,  the  sadness  with  which  he 
watched  those  year-long  companions,  most  of 
whom  he  would  never  sec  again,  pass  out  and  dis- 
appear all  these  sensations  gathcrc<l  upon  him 
like  a  spell  and  dulled  his  brain  as  with  the  hov- 
ering of  invisible,  hx-pnoti/.ing  hands.  The  year 
had  gone,  indeetl,  and  the  dark  cavern  of  the  past 
had  swallowed  it  up  forever. 

At  last  the  lecturer  -  a  lecturer  no  longer,  but 
just  a  pl.iin  human  Ixring  —  roused  himself,  went 
to  the  window,  and  looked  out  into  the  great,  open 

3 


MUSIC  AND    THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

world.  The  radiant,  opulent  summer  seemed  to 
meet  him  with  joyous  invitations.  The  dazzling 
sunshine,  the  quivering  masses  of  green,  the  glis- 
tening clouds  soaring  like  happy  winged  creatures 
in  the  expanse  of  blue,  the  warm  tide  of  the  wind 
flowing  with  rhythmic  rise  and  fall  from  immeas- 
urable spaces,  all  the  seductions  of  the  season  of 
unspeakable  glory  took  quick  possession  of  his 
soul.  The  world  of  the  classroom  seemed  to  slip 
away  and  merge  with  the  infinite  existence,  and 
he  awoke  to  perceive  that  there  is  somehow  a 
vital  relation  of  the  one  to  the  other.  All  our 
acts,  he  said  to  himself,  are  bound  by  invisible 
fibres  to  every  other  act  under  the  universal  sun. 
He  truly  lives  who  recognizes  the  unity  of  all  life. 
We  try  to  isolate  our  vocation  and  develop  it 
along  its  own  special  lines,  but  nature  knows  no 
such  exclusion.  Rightly  to  specialize  means  to 
emphasize,  not  to  detach.  Every  activity  of  ours 
is  like  a  part  in  a  complex  web  of  counterpoint  — 
it  goes  its  own  way  and  has  its  own  individual 
rhythm,  but  finds  its  full  significance  only  in  its 
union  with  other  activities  which  combine  to  form 
a  living  whole. 

The  thoughts  of  maturity,  like  the  thoughts  of 
youth,  are  ''long,  long  thoughts."  Not  merely 
are  they  unbounded  by  conditions  of  space,  but 
they  outrun  the  speed  of  time.  And  so  the  weary 
lecturer,  refreshed  by  the  splendor  of  the  exhaust- 
less  sun  and  the  touch  of  the  tireless  wind,  was 
aroused  to  fresh  mental  activity,  and  as  his  mind 


IN  A  COLLEGE  MUSIC  ROOM 

swept  over  the  past  year  the  classroom  events 
seemed  to  leap  back  an<l  gather  into  a  focus 
where  he  could  view  them  from  a  new  |x)int  of 
vantage.  There  is  no  question  that  the  annual 
release  which  the  professional  teacher  enjoys  is  a 
benefit  in  more  ways  than  one,  not  the  least  being 
the  opportunity  it  gives  him  to  hold  his  subject 
at  arm's  length  and  measure  it  against  the  back- 
ground of  general  human  interests.  Under  tliis 
scrutiny  his  special  task  need  not  shrink;  rather 
should  it  dilate,  as  it  is  seen  in  relations  long  un- 
sus|>ecte<i,  making  its  own  unique  contribution  to 
the  larger  life  that  surrounds  it  by  means  of  affilia- 
tions it  fm<ls  there,  which  in  turn  give  back  to  it 
the  sustenance  necessary  for  its  own  wholesome 
development. 

"All  arc  needed  by  each  one; 
Nothing  is  fair  or  good  alone." 

Fortunate  is  the  specialist  who  learns  this  lesson. 
It  is  a  lesson  of  tolerance  and  true  estimate  of 
obligation.  He  will  know  how  to  reach  outside 
of  his  main  interest  for  richer  sources  of  supply, 
and  his  work  will  receive  a  revitalizalion  that  will 
give  assurance  of  finer  Issues.  He  will  not  lower 
his  respect  for  his  own  peculiar  business;  rather 
will  he  enhance  it,  since  the  honor  he  jxiys  to  other 
tasks  he  will  feel  he  has  a  right  to  demand  for  his 
own.  Strictly  speaking,  there  is  no  less  nor  more 
in  human  service,  provided  that  each  man's  labor 

5 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

be  suited  to  his  talent  and  performed  with  sin- 
cerity and  reverence.  Nothing  that  is  good  can 
be  spared;  the  thing  that  seemed  trivial  may  be 
the  very  thing  that  was  needed  to  make  the  whole 
complete.  We  must  only  see  to  it  that  there 
shall  be  no  collisions  or  cross-purposes,  each  task 
in  a  clear  field  playing  its  own  free  part  in  the 
furtherance  of  the  common  weal. 

It  is  often  surprising  to  see  how  quickly  sanity 
of  spirit  is  recovered  when  one  looks  beyond  the 
fact  in  quest  of  its  relations.  As  this  promoter  of 
the  love  of  music  saw  his  beloved  employment  re- 
treating into  the  background  and  taking  its  place 
among  other  interests  as  great  or  greater,  he  re- 
alized that  he  was  not  isolated  —  as  one  often 
feels  that  one  is  when  the  whole  energy  is  thrown 
into  the  single  work  in  hand  —  but,  as  a  member 
of  the  large  board  of  college  administration,  re- 
sponsible with  his  colleagues  for  the  well-being  of 
the  whole  institution.  His  ambition  had  been  to 
develop  his  department  to  the  utmost  and  win 
for  it  a  commanding  position,  but  as  a  conscien- 
tious and  liberal  person  he  must  also  consider 
other  claims,  feeling,  in  the  vision  of  the  larger 
life  which  had  come  to  him,  that  he  must  justify 
to  himself,  on  the  highest  grounds,  the  effort 
which  he  had  been  somewhat  aggressively  mak- 
ing to  establish  art  as  a  necessity  in  the  college 
world. 

Brooding  over  the  problem  in  the  stillness  of 
his  deserted  lecture-room,  this  devotee  of  music, 

6 


IN  A  COLLKGE  MUSIC  ROOM 

grateful  for  what  his  t)cIove<l  art  had  done  for 
him,  ami  als«)  cordially  rccopni/inn  the  deference 
due  to  other  min«ls  of  diflcrcnl  cxiHrionce  from 
his  own,  iK'gan  t«)  formulaic  his  convictions  of  the 
true  relationship  l>elwcen  his  own  <lcpartment  and 
the  whole  mechanism  of  collej»e  life.  For  he  felt 
that  his  duty  re<iuiretl  not  only  that  he  cultivate 
the  love  of  music  in  his  pupils,  but  that  he  also 
adjust  the  results  of  his  teaching  to  other  disci- 
plines, so  that  out  of  his  effort,  in  corresjxindencc 
with  the  efforts  of  other  guides,  a  unity  of  intel- 
lectual life  shcmld  pr(X-ee<l.  He  l)elieve<l  that  this 
unity  could  he  achieve<l,  hut  under  what  condi- 
tions and  by  what  methfxls?  Like  the  French 
philost>phcr,  he  must  be  allowcti  to  say,  "I  culti- 
vate my  garden";  but  at  the  same  time  he  must 
look  over  the  lx»unds  of  the  little  estate  that  is 
given  him  to  till,  and  fmd  insi)irati<)n  and  direc- 
tion for  his  lalxirs  in  the  adaptation  of  his  hus- 
bandry to  the  issues  of  the  greater  harvest. 

Thus  there  oi)cne<l  to  this  student  of  musical 
values  a  task  worthy  of  his  leisure  in  the  golden 
summer-time.  What  more  profitable  employment 
in  hours  of  me<litation  among  the  hills  or  by  the 
ocean  shore  than  to  review  the  discoveries  which 
the  years  had  brought  him,  and  make  his  course 
of  life  clearer  thereafter  by  studying  out  the  real 
function  of  his  jxirticular  wheel  in  the  big  machine? 
Even  at  the  very  moment  of  insight  a  multitude 
of  ideas  lK*gan  to  press  upon  him,  and  in  the 
thoughtful  weeks  that  ensued  they  drew  to  them- 

7 


MUSIC  AND   THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

selves  many  winged  companions,  and  all  at  last 
shaped  themselves  into  the  conclusions  which  are 
set  down  in  the  Lines  that  follow. 


PART  I 
THE   CULLKGK  AND   TIIK   FIXF   ARTS 


Ip  the  college  could  Ix?  considered  an  epitome 
of  the  world,  a  micnxosm  in  which  the  activities 
of  human  life  ojxrrale  in  duplicate  upon  a  reduced 
scale,  then  the  assignment  of  a  place  to  the  fine 
arts  would  not  Ik*  dinicult,  since  the  part  played 
by  art  in  civilization  is  [)lainly  shown  by  history. 
But  the  college  is  not  that.  Life  moves  there 
under  certain  jKculiar  conditions,  in  which  the 
organization  is  more  rigid,  the  aims  more  meth- 
odically formulated,  the  problem,  on  the  whole, 
more  simple  than  in  the  world  outside,  because 
administered  by  a  permanent  uniftetl  body  whose 
authority  is  unquestioned  and  whose  decrees  fol- 
low a  very  distinct  line  of  time-honored  precedent. 
The  moral  conditions  within  the  academic  walls 
arc  plainly  differentiated  from  those  without  in 
this  respect,  that  while  the  procctlure  of  nature, 
where  she  acts  freely,  is  to  devise  obstructions 
that  shall  m;ike  the  path  to  spirilu:U  and  intellec- 
tual attainment  as  ditlicult  as  jwssible.  with  the 
expectation  of  multitudinous  failures,  the  cflort  of 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

the  college  is  to  remove  all  moral  obstructions, 
and  if  it  rears  intellectual  impediments  it  makes 
haste  to  show  the  most  efficient  and  speedy  way 
by  which  they  may  be  surmounted.  The  method 
of  the  world  is  to  discipline,  and  also  to  eliminate, 
by  temptation;  the  method  of  the  college,  like  that 
of  the  family,  is  to  keep  evil  enticement  far  away, 
and  to  estabhsh  certain  wholesome  tastes  and 
habits,  so  that  when  the  assaults  of  temptation 
come  the  soul  may  be  provided  with  armor  that 
is  proof  against  them.  The  college,  indeed,  is 
often  in  doubt  concerning  the  amount  of  freedom 
to  be  allowed,  but  that  there  is  a  sharp  limit  to 
freedom  there  is  never  any  question.  At  the  same 
time  the  college  strives  to  give  its  young  disciples 
heart  for  the  coming  struggle,  and  to  touch  their 
eyes  with  the  magic  ointment  that  shall  make 
clear  their  vision  of  ultimate  values.  Protection, 
instruction,  inspiration  —  these  are  the  benefits 
which  the  college  is  organized  to  oflfer.  The  world 
offers  two  of  them,  and  these  it  does  not  enforce 
by  any  external  compulsion,  but  simply  provides 
them  for  him  who  builds  his  own  castle,  assigns 
his  own  lessons,  and  courts  his  own  muse. 

The  broadest  conception  of  the  function  of  a 
college  takes  no  account  of  the  everlasting  dispute 
over  the  "cultural"  vs.  the  "vocational"  aim  of 
college  training.  There  is  one  vocation,  appointed 
to  all  men  if  they  will  accept  it,  with  which  the 
college  is  supremely  concerned  —  that  vocation, 
embracing  all  others,  which  is  found  in  the  constant 

lO 


THE  COLLEGK  AND  THK  FINE  ARTS 

appropriation  of  whatever  will  promote  the  full 
life  of  the  st^ul.  The  cultivation  of  any  siK'cial 
aptitude  draws  its  sanction  ultimately  from  that; 
its  highest  worth  consists  in  the  contribution  it 
moke^  to  that.  The  development  of  the  noblest 
powers  of  intellect  and  spirit  is  not  one  thing  and 
the  "vocation"  another  thing.  "Resolutely  to 
live  in  the  goo<l.  the  l)eautiful,  and  the  complete" 
is  culture,  and  the  implicit  if  not  verbally  expressc*! 
purjx>se  of  every  college,  no  matter  how  much  its 
courses  may  be  shajKd  for  "practical"  ends,  is  to 
enable  the  vocational  training,  through  the  clTi- 
ciency  it  induces,  to  minister  to  this  fulness  of 
life,  not  merely  in  the  individual,  but  also  in  the 
society  to  which  he  Ix'longs.  The  most  ardent 
advocates  of  courses  that  "prepare  directly  for 
success  in  life"  are  undoubtetlly  more  lilx-ral  than 
the  common  inteqiretation  of  their  dogma  which 
they  often  seem  to  encourage,  and  in  their  hearts 
would  not  object  to  President  Nicholas  Murray 
Butler's  assertion  that  "what  science  and  prac- 
tical life  alike  need  is  not  narrow  men  but  broad 
men  sharpened  to  a  point."  Neither  could  they 
well  take  exception  to  William  E.  Clladstone's 
protest  against  that  theory  of  education  "which 
gloats  upon  success  in  life  instead  of  studying  to 
secure  that  the  man  shall  always  be  greater  than 
his  work."  The  enormous  opiH>rt unities  afforded 
by  the  present  age,  emphasizing  the  idea  of  work 
for  the  conquest  of  the  material  world,  have  re- 
acted against  the  old  itlcalism  and  have  greatly 

II 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

altered  the  traditional  conception  of  academic  edu- 
cation; but  still  another  reaction  toward  a  new 
idealism,  which  will  not  renounce  these  conquests 
but  will  use  them  to  higher  ends,  if  not  already 
present,  will  surely  appear  when  the  base  results 
of  selfish  material  aggrandizement  are  made  evi- 
dent. Then  comes  the  problem  of  the  union  of 
two  motives  which  are  often  held  at  variance  — 
the  development  of  individual  efficiency  in  order 
to  avoid  waste  of  energy,  and  the  culture  of  the 
fuU,  free  personality  for  the  sake  of  the  highest 
satisfaction  and  the  completest  service.  It  may 
be  gladly  admitted  that  no  institution  of  learning, 
not  even  the  most  technical  of  technical  schools, 
ever  wishes  its  graduates  to  become  detached  ma- 
chines, grinding  out  a  product  that  has  no  rela- 
tion to  the  producer's  real  life,  and  be  content 
with  that;  but  rather  that  they  shall  merge  their 
trade  in  the  one  great  business  of  society,  whose 
highest  aim  lies  not  in  the  mastery  of  the  earth's 
resources  for  the  increase  of  wealth  and  physical 
comfort,  but  in  granting  encouragement  and  op- 
portunity to  all  its  members  who  crave  an  indi- 
vidual life  that  is  rich,  various,  and  in  harmony 
with  its  best  instincts.  To  contribute  to  the 
working  out  of  this  destiny  for  the  individual  and 
the  state  involves  and  requires  culture. 

This  culture  —  which,  it  need  hardly  be  said, 
has  nothing  to  do  with  any  kind  of  dilettante 
exclusiveness,  but  recognizes  every  human  aspira- 
tion —  this  culture,  the  development  of  something 

12 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

which  is  to  act  an  a  driving  force  upon  the  ma- 
chinery of  ihc  special  discipline,  is  the  aim,  even 
though  sometimes  unconscious,  not  only  of  the 
collective  college  establishment  but  of  every  scjxi- 
ratc  course  of  sluily.  In  our  loose  phraseology 
wc  discriminate  between  "practical"  and  "cul- 
tural" courses,  or,  as  the  latter  arc  sometimes 
called,  "courses  in  appreciation."  But  every  col- 
lege study,  if  the  instructor  is  really  alive  to  its 
relations,  is  a  course  in  appreciation.  Strange,  is 
it  not,  that  this  phrase  should  be  commonly  con- 
fined to  lectures  uixm  art !  The  value  of  any  col- 
lege course  is  not  in  the  meagre  quantity  of  facts 
gathereil  in  a  semester  or  two;  neither  is  it  in  the 
sharpening  of  certain  acquisitive  faculties,  but 
rather  in  the  Nision  it  creates,  the  imagination  it 
kindles,  the  mental  and  moral  bracing  it  aflords 
through  the  presentation  of  stimulating  ideals. 
Nothing  is  isolated;  nothing  is  known  except  in 
its  relations;  every  physical  and  mental  activity, 
however  slender,  plays  its  part  in  feeding  the  uni- 
versal stream  of  tendency.  The  scientific  courses 
are  often  considered  as  jx-culiarly,  even  e.xclu.sivcly, 
practical;  but  one  who  pos.sesses  the  view  of  sci- 
ence presented  by  John  Tyndall,  in  his  famous 
address  on  "The  Scientific  Use  of  the  Imagina- 
tion," knows  that  science  is  poetic,  that  every 
single  discovery  leads  to  a  new  mystery  and  a 
l.irger  gcnerali/.alion.  that  the  true  study  of  sci- 
ence enhances  the  joy  of  living  and  kindles  a  sort 
of  cosmic  emotion  in  the  ardor  of  research.    And 

13 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

so  we  might  go  through  the  list:  philosophy,  his- 
tory, economics,  languages,  and  all  the  rest  — 
every  one  of  them  is  a  course  in  appreciation,  and 
even  the  teacher  who  is  most  imbued  with  the  voca- 
tional idea  cannot,  unless  he  is  the  paltriest  kind 
of  a  pedant,  prevent  his  course  from  being  a  cul- 
ture course.  Stevenson  must  have  had  some  such 
thought  as  this  behind  his  words  when  he  said: 
"So  far  from  its  being  difficult  to  instruct  while 
you  amuse,  it  is  difficult  to  do  the  one  thoroughly 
without  the  other."  Here  the  word  "amuse"  is 
to  be  interpreted  in  the  largest  sense,  as  implying 
first  the  dehght  that  springs  from  the  normal  exer- 
cise of  any  faculty  and  the  gratification  of  curi- 
osity (the  scholar's  ever-present  motive),  and  in 
the  second  place  the  exultation  that  comes  when 
a  new  fact  opens  a  wider  vista  in  the  outlook  upon 
Ufe.     "To  miss  the  joy  is  to  miss  all." 

II 

The  result  above  described,  although  inevitable 
in  study  that  is  really  worth  the  name,  has  not 
usually  been  considered  the  primary  aim  in  the 
traditional  college  scheme.  Indeed,  there  is  an 
impression  in  many  college  faculties  that  any  course 
that  distinctly  gives  pleasure  to  those  who  elect 
it  is,  on  the  whole,  to  be  looked  upon  with  dis- 
trust. The  traditional  college  standard  is,  in  a 
word,  austere.  But,  behold,  in  these  latter  days, 
a  novel  order  of  subjects  is  applying  for  entrance 

14 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

into  the  college  domain  —  coming  not  with  trum- 
pets and  iKinnrrs,  but  .stealthily,  as  claimants  not 
quite  sure  of  their  indorsement  by  the  college  im- 
migration commission,  which  admits  or  excludes 
according  to  its  view  of  the  antecedents  and 
promise  of  the  solicitor.  What  assurance  do  music 
and  the  drama  and  the  reprc*sentalive  arts  ofler 
of  co-o|xrralive  harmony  with  the  college  ideal  ? 
They  are  certainly  (juite  unlike.  e.xternally  at  least, 
those  intellectual  pursuits  demanding  research  and 
memory,  in  which  strenuous  di.sciplinc  for  tan- 
gible results  is  the  |>aramount  puqx)sc  and  joy 
in  the  immediate  presentation  a  secondary  and 
hardly  recognized  consideration.  F"or  the  fine  arts 
ofler  pleasure  as  their  guerdon:  they  are  crowneti 
wth  beauty  and  delight  is  their  apparel,  and  the 
smile  ujx)n  their  faces  seems  to  promise  rewards 
that  have  nothing  in  common  with  that  mental 
and  mor;U  toughening  which  the  conventional 
disciplines  assure  to  those  who  faithfully  undergo 
their  ordeal.  Even  the  most  serious  advocate  of 
the  arts  is  obliged  to  admit  that  the  enjo^-ment  of 
them  is.  or  seems  to  Ix*.  involvetl  in  an  attitude 
of  passive  contemplation  instead  of  an  active  ex- 
ercise of  volition;  that  if  they  afford  discipline  the 
word  must  Ik*  use<l  not  in  its  customary  sense; 
that  the  object  which  in  the  scientific  courses  is 
primary  is  with  them  secondary,  if  it  appears  at 
all;  that  the  development  of  txste,  discrimination, 
and  artistic  ftrling,  in  which  their  value  lies,  is 
purely   on    inward    personal    matter    and    cannot 

15 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

be  discovered  by  the  current  academic  tests  or 
measured  by  the  ordinary  marking  system.  For 
in  respect  to  things  of  beauty  love  is  the  preliminary 
condition,  and  more  love  the  constant  aim,  and 
how  can  the  student  prove  to  an  examiner's  satis- 
faction the  possession  of  a  thing  that  can  only  be 
spiritually  discerned?  Examinations  may  be  suc- 
cessfully passed  upon  form,  technique,  history,  and 
biography,  but  those  matters  are  merely  accessory; 
they  may  assist  in  appreciation  to  a  certain  extent, 
but  a  student  may  have  them  all  at  his  tongue's 
end  and  at  the  same  time  be  bankrupt  so  far  as 
any  real  aesthetic  asset  is  concerned.  It  is  plain 
that  courses  that  appeal  to  an  innate  capacity  for 
feeling,  and  exact  comparatively  httle  in  the  way 
of  investigation  and  memory,  must  stand  in  a  class 
by  themselves,  and  that  they  call  upon  the  aus- 
tere college  preceptors  to  do  what  they  are  most 
reluctant  to  do  —  that  is,  take  the  results  on  trust. 

Ill 

In  their  claim  for  recognition  the  fine  arts  ap- 
peal to  the  faith  —  now  become  ancient  and  or- 
thodox —  in  the  trinity  of  the  Good,  the  True, 
and  the  Beautiful,  "friends  to  man,  who  never  can 
be  sundered  without  tears."  Has  not  the  college 
often  seemed  to  sunder  them,  misunderstanding 
their  mutual  dependence  because  of  imperfect  defi- 
nition of  terms,  misconceiving  especially  the  real 
essence  and  office  of  beauty?    At  last,  however, 

i6 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

a  palpable  change  is  coming  over  our  American 
institutions  of  learning,  and  it  is  most  interesting 
to  see  how  the  desire  of  beauty  is  growing  within 
them.  In  comp>aring  the  early  college  buildings 
with  those  of  later  date,  the  difTercncc  in  costliness 
is  indeed  enormous,  but  that  is  not  the  important 
diflerencc.  Beauty  was  often  absent  from  the  old 
dormitories  and  recitation  halls,  not  Ixrcausc  it  was 
expensive  (although  the  limited  financial  resources 
must  be  taken  into  account),  but  because  it  was 
not  deemed  necessary.  There  sur\'ived  the  tradi- 
tion of  asceticism,  the  dim  association  of  learning 
with  a  metli.Tval  ideal  of  self-mortification,  with 
the  monk's  cell,  which  for  many  generations  was 
its  only  home,  with  the  vow  of  poverty,  the  coarse 
robe,  the  wooden  l>owl.  In  bter  years  there  has 
been  a  notable  change  in  this  conception  as  the 
scholar  has  cease<l  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  member 
of  an  exclusive  and  privileged  class.  This  transi- 
tion from  the  scholar  as  clerk  to  the  scholar  as 
man  of  the  world,  involved  "in  the  tide  of  life,  in 
action's  storm."  has  strikingly  altered  the  whole 
ideal  and  method  of  the  collegiate  establishment. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  process  of  bring- 
ing the  college  into  closer  touch  with  the  outer 
life,  one  of  whose  tokens  is  the  increase  of  luxury 
and  the  pride  of  adornment  —  coinciding  with  the 
tendency  which  has  gone  so  far  to  break  down 
the  old  scparatencss  of  collegiate  training  and 
force  it  into  the  stream  that  makes  for  increased 
social    comfort    and    material    acquisitions  —  has 

17 


MUSIC  AND   THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

worked  parallel  to  the  decline  of  emphasis  upon 
the  things  of  the  mind,  of  which  many  of  our  cen- 
sors within  and  without  the  college  so  bitterly 
complain,  even  if  the  two  phenomena  are  not 
actually  connected  as  cause  and  effect. 

It  follows  that  in  many  opinions  the  increasing 
devotion  that  is  paid  to  the  arts,  with  their  primary 
appeal  to  the  senses  and  the  unchastened  emotion, 
should  be  resisted  as  an  influence  that  is  still  fur- 
ther debilitating.  For,  while  Tennyson  may  have 
been  right  in  saying  that  the  triune  sisterhood 
cannot  be  sundered  without  tears,  the  fact  re- 
mains that  while  goodness  and  truth  bear  inevita- 
ble connotations  of  beauty,  beauty  does  not  in- 
evitably bear  connotations  of  goodness  and  truth. 
Beauty  is  not  altogether  ''its  own  excuse  for  being," 
as  Emerson  declared,  since  she  may  lend  her  allure- 
ments to  unworthy  ends,  while  to  attribute  any 
such  infirmity  to  goodness  and  truth  would  be  to 
indulge  in  a  contradiction  in  terms.  The  rancor- 
ous sensualist  of  Browning's  fancy,  who  ordered 
his  tomb  in  St.  Praxed's  Church,  might  have  found 
a  counterpart  in  the  humanist  of  his  day  whose 
mind  was  bent  on  the  acquisition  of  learning,  but 
not  in  one  who  sought  for  truth.  Goodness  and 
truth  are  sufficient  ends  in  themselves;  beauty 
not  necessarily  so.  She  is  also  a  means,  and 
we  must  look  beyond  her.  Beauty,  therefore,  is 
rightly  required  to  justify  herself,  for  we  find  in 
the  brilliant  periods  of  art  that  beauty,  while  often 
the  handmaid  of  good,  has  also  lent  herself  to  serv- 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  FLNE  ARTS 

ice*  not  noble;  that  in  aflfortling  her  powerful 
aid  to  the  stimulation  and  the  gratifuation  of  dc- 
aires  she  has  often  held  herself  indilTerent  to  the 
ethical  consetjuences  of  her  action.  And  yet,  in 
the  fact  that  we  involuntarily  attribute  loveliness 
to  truth  and  goodness,  wc  implicitly  ascril>e  a 
divine  sanction  to  the  spirit  of  beauty.  These  a|>- 
parent  contradictions  bewilder  us.  and  in  our  con- 
fusion we  seem  almost  driven  to  the  paradox  of 
the  Irish  |xK*t  in  his  judgment  upon  love,  and,  chal- 
lenging the  lollfgr  altitude  toward  beauty,  we  arc 
temptcxl  to  e.xclaim: 

"  How  wi-sc  wt-rc  \  ..-n  not  I  — and  yet 

Huw  {xKjf  if  yu..  am  her  from  the  doorl" 


IV 

This  hesitation  arises  from  certain  imperfect 
preconceptions  concerning  the  nature  of  beauty 
which  are  inhcritctl  from  an  ancestry  in  whose 
eyes  the  charms  of  art  secmc<i  to  conflict  with  the 
stern  claims  of  the  moral  law.  Wc  may  escape 
from  the  difTiculty  by  enlarging  our  defmitions. 
If  beauty  and  art  mean  to  us  only  what  they  mean 
to  voluptuaries  who  cherish  art  as  an  exclusive 
gratilicalion  which  releases  them  from  their  right- 
ful share  in  the  struggle  and  pain  of  life,  then  is 
art,  indeeil,  a  dangerous  setlucer  or  at  best  a  means 
of  cowardly  estaj>e  from  the  realities  which  call 
upon  us  to  sacrilice  our  private  comfort  for  the 

«9 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

sake  of  the  common  good.  But  if  art  and  beauty- 
are  to  us  what  they  have  been  to  the  sages  —  the 
Platos,  the  Goethes,  the  Emersons  —  who  saw  that 
some  of  the  highest  aspirations  of  human  life  can- 
not be  fulfilled  without  their  aid;  if  we  try  to  con- 
ceive how  much  less  would  be  our  knowledge  of  our- 
selves and  our  copartners  of  the  ages  if  heart  and 
soul  had  never  found  utterance  in  the  symbols  cre- 
ated by  the  Dantes,  the  Michelangelos,  the  Shake- 
speares,  the  Rembrandts,  and  the  Beethovens;  or 
if  the  temple  and  cathedral  builders  had  never 
been  moved  to  put  their  visions  into  form;  if, 
most  of  all,  we  apprehend  the  nature  of  the  minis- 
try which  art,  wisely  fashioned  and  patriotically 
administered,  may  perform  in  the  service  of  an 
ideal  commonwealth  —  then  are  we  relieved  of  our 
distrust  and  we  see  how  we  have  been  misled  by 
the  purblind  guides  who  would  restrict  art  to  func- 
tions which  touch  only  the  surface  of  things.  Art, 
like  any  agency  constituted  for  the  common  bene- 
fit, may  easily  be  perverted  to  special  and  selfish 
ends.  It  has  been  seized  upon  as  a  sort  of  private 
booty  for  the  further  stimulation  of  those  desires 
which  find  in  money  the  sole  condition  of  satisfac- 
tion. It  has  been  appropriated  by  the  privileged 
classes,  made  expressive  of  aristocratic  ideas,  as  in 
the  later  French  Renaissance,  so  that  aesthetic  re- 
finement and  the  extreme  of  decorative  splendor 
have  coincided  with  utter  debasement  of  the  larg- 
est section  of  the  community  —  Versailles,  in  its 
pompous  grandeur  and  delicate  softness  of  man- 

20 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  FL\E  ARTS 

ners,  looking  out  upon  a  surrounding  squalor  and 
brutishncss  like  that  of  the  Stone  Age.  It  is  these 
contrasts,  not  so  much  the  sensuous  allurements 
of  the  art  itself,  that  have  producc<I  those  reactions 
upon  character  which  have  excited  so  much  icono- 
clastic ra^c  and  moral  denunciation.  The  separa- 
tion of  art  from  the  common  life  does  not  come  from 
inherent  necessity,  as  though  beauty  and  useful 
lalxjr  were  mutually  repellent.  The  powerful  and 
grxsping  have  seized  ujwn  the  means  by  which 
l)cauty  is  made  operative,  as  they  have  seized  upon 
the  natural  products  of  the  earth,  and  have  ap- 
propriatetl  them  for  their  own  exclusive  behoof. 
Again  and  aj;;un  has  the  spirit  of  art  rel>cllcd 
against  this  monopoly  —  temporarily  and  incom- 
pletely, but  at  times  with  sufficient  success  to 
prove  that  beauty  is  a  universal  desire,  and  that 
with  freedom  of  opportunity  every  phase  of  human 
activity  may  lake  possession  of  it  and  find  not 
only  pleasure  but  actual  co-operation  in  the  part- 
nership. For  beauty,  when  rightly  understood, 
is  recognizeii  as  an  inevitable  accompaniment  of 
all  healthful  growth.  We  have  only  to  open  our 
eyes  upon  a  May  morning  to  sec  that  beauty  is 
the  token  of  expanding  life,  that  nothing  is  ugly 
except  abortivcness  and  decay.  When  we  turn 
to  history  we  learn  that  every  culminating  period 
of  art  coincided  with  a  manifestation  of  national 
energy  in  some  other  direction,  as  in  commerce, 
discover)',  internal  development,  or  conquest;  that 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  decadent  art  except  as 

ai 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

certain  technical  agencies  of  expression  have  loos- 
ened themselves  from  the  progressive  tendencies 
of  the  time,  and  have  been  feebly  used  to  main- 
tain a  momentary  semblance  of  life  when  real 
vitality  had  been  exhausted. 

There  is  no  human  need,  individual  or  collect- 
ive, that  cannot  be  expressed  in  beautiful  form. 
And  it  is  in  the  very  truth  and  freedom  of  the  ex- 
pression, its  fitness  to  the  sincere  impulse,  that 
its  essential  beauty  lies.  It  is  inevitable,  there- 
fore, that  art  should  be  demanded  by  democracy 
just  as  soon  as  it  is  reahzed  that  art  is  not,  in  very 
nature,  the  special  prerogative  of  any  class  or  in- 
stitution. Democracy,  when  properly  instructed, 
or  evQn  when  left  to  the  free  exercise  of  its  instincts, 
soon  learns  that  the  play  of  those  social  forces  of 
which  democracy  is  the  outcome  and  the  efficient 
agent  naturally  issues  in  manifestations  which  re- 
act upon  the  spiritual  element  in  man.  More  life, 
richer  life,  higher  life  is  spontaneously  demanded 
as  soon  as  poUtical  and  social  repressions  are  re- 
moved. Beauty  is  sought  because  life  does  not 
seem  complete  without  it.  Just  as  soon  as  democ- 
racy acquires  self-consciousness  and  becomes  aware 
that  its  attainment  is  not  complete  just  because 
certain  institutional  and  legal  machinery  has  been 
put  in  operation,  then  democracy  sets  itself  to 
solve  the  unavoidable  question  —  how  shall  the 
new  conditions  promote  those  ends  in  which  alone 
the  higher  capacities  of  man  can  find  their  lasting 
satisfaction?    The  instant  the  problem  is  clearly 

22 


THE  COLLEGE  AXD  THE   FINE  ARTS 

perceived  to  be  insistently  present  art  Ixrpns  to 
lend  its  hand,  for  art,  however  it  may  Ik*  perversely 
employed  for  pride  and  vainglory,  is,  nevertheless, 
everywhere  and  at  all  times,  a  testimony  to  the 
spirit  th;it  cn-ate<l  it,  and  finds  its  final  value  to 
the  beholder  as  a  revelation  of  a  spiritual  power. 
If  in  a  democracy  the  controlling  forces  make  for 
the  general  welfare,  as  in  a  true  democracy  they 
must,  then  there  will  ai)[x-ar  a  demtKratic  art 
which  will  rise  to  a  higher  term  than  art  has  here- 
tofore known  in  its  historic  evolution.  Ixrcausc  it 
will  spring  from  the  popular  consciousness  and 
exalt  the  life  of  the  whole. 


V 

Signs  of  a  rebirth  of  art  in  this  countr>'  have 
been  caught  by  many  observers  who  at  the  same 
time  profess  their  faith  in  an  im{K>nding  forward 
movement  toward  the  attiinment  of  a  nobler  de- 
mocracy. Emerson,  writing  in  1870.  felt  the  need 
but  saw  little  ground  for  confidence.  The  great 
historic  works  of  art,  the  cathedrals,  the  Madon- 
nas of  Raphael  and  Titian,  tragedy,  "the  mir- 
acles of  music."  "all  sprang  out  of  some  genu- 
ine enthusiasm  and  never  out  of  dilettanteism  and 
holidays.  .\.)w  ihey  languish  Ix'causc  their  pur- 
pose is  merely  exhibition."  "  In  this  country  other 
interests  than  religion  and  patriotism  are  predomi- 
nant, and  the  arts,  the  daughters  of  enthusiasm. 
do   not    flourish."    Our    wants    "arc    superficial 

«3 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

wants  and  their  fruits  are  superficial  institutions." 
But,  as  the  seer  asserts  himself  again,  he  exclaims: 
"Yet,  as  far  as  they  accelerate  the  end  of  poHtical 
freedom  and  national  education,  they  are  prepar- 
ing the  soil  of  man  for  fairer  flowers  and  fruits  in 
another  age.  For  beauty,  truth,  and  goodness 
are  not  obsolete;  they  spring  eternal  in  the  breast 
of  man,"  The  time  which  Emerson  foresaw,  guar- 
anteed by  his  faith  in  human  nature,  is  perhaps 
nearer  than  he  dreamed.  Mr.  John  Galsworthy 
has  lately  written:  '*I  cannot  help  thinking  that 
historians,  looking  back  from  the  far  future,  will 
record  this  age  as  the  Third  Renaissance.  Just  as 
in  the  Greek  Renaissance  worn-out  Pagan  ortho- 
doxy was  penetrated  by  a  new  philosophy;  just 
as  in  the  Italian  Renaissance  Pagan  philosophy, 
reasserting  itself,  fertilized  again  an  already  too 
inbred  Christian  creed;  so  now  Orthodoxy,  ferti- 
Hzed  by  Science,  is  producing  a  fresh  and  fuller 
conception  of  Hfe  —  a  love  of  Perfection,  not  for 
hope  of  reward,  not  for  fear  of  punishment,  but 
for  Perfection's  sake.  Slowly,  under  our  feet, 
beneath  our  consciousness,  is  forming  that  new 
philosophy,  and  it  is  in  times  of  nev/  philosophies 
that  Art,  itself  in  essence  always  a  discovery, 
must  flourish." 

Mr.  W.  B.  Worsfold  finds  in  the  very  evolution 
of  an  industrialism  which  has  been  hitherto  con- 
sidered inevitably  repressive  of  art  and  culture 
the  assurance  of  a  new  sphere  for  their  action 
among  the  masses.     "The  demand  for  the  Umi- 

24 


THE  COLLEGK  ASD  THE   KLNE  ARTS 

tation  of  the  hours  of  labor  and  for  the  provi- 
sion of  cxlcndcti  opportunities  for  mcnlaJ  culture, 
which  loL'rthcr  form  one  of  the  foremost  of  the 
idcaU  «)f  m^hlcrn  democracy,  receives  a  new  sig- 
nilicancc  when  wc  recognize  Uie  biological  ba-sis 
for  the  connrclion  between  art  and  leisure.  For 
scientific  analysis  makes  it  phiin  that  iXv>lhetic  en- 
joyment, whether  in  the  individual  or  in  the  com- 
munity, is  only  {mssiblc  when  there  is  *an  organiza- 
tion so  suiK-rior  that  the  energies  have  not  to  be 
wholly  expended  in  the  fullilmcnt  of  material  re- 
(1  ts  from  hour  to  hour.'  —  (Herbert  Spencrr). 

A.  iclivily,  therefore,  depends  directly  upon 

the  economic  management  of  the  physical  and  men- 
tal faculties;  and,  since  iK)lilical,  social,  and  bi- 
ological dtvilopmcnt  alike  tends  to  produce  this 
result,  it  is  clear  that,  with  the  progress  of  human- 
ity, art  and  literature  will  occupy  an  increasingly 
im}>ortant  place  in  the  life  of  man.  Democracy, 
therefore,  instead  of  destroying  must  tend  to  fos- 
ter Art."  "The  time  has  come,"  he  goes  on  to 
say,  "when  art  and  literature  arc  no  longer  the 
property  of  the  few,  but  when,  in  fact,  they  are  as 
intimately  a  part  of  the  life  of  civilized  p)coplcs  as 
they  wore  in  the  age  of  Pericles;  and  therefore  the 
identity  of  their  spirit  u-ith  the  spirit  of  the  truest 
thought  and  the  hight^st  conduct  —  wliich  Plato 
asserted  to  l>e  the  true  relation  between  them  and 
the  life  of  man  —  seems  no  longer  impossible  of 
realization,  but  hxs.  on  the  contrary,  come  to  be 
regarded  as  the  natural  goal  of  their  development." 

•5 


MUSIC  AND   THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

"In  America,"  said  F.  W.  H.  Myers,  "the  rule 
has  passed  to  the  multitude,  largely  swayed  in 
subordinate  matters  by  organized  wealth,  but  in 
the  last  resort  supreme.  The  ideal  of  the  new  com- 
munity at  first  was  wealth;  but,  as  its  best  litera- 
ture and  its  best  society  plainly  show,  that  ideal 
is  shifting  in  the  direction  of  culture.  The  younger 
cities,  the  coarser  classes,  still  bow  down  undis- 
guisedly  to  the  god  Dollar;  but  when  this  phiHs- 
tine  deity  is  rejected  as  shaming  his  worshippers, 
aesthetic  culture  seems  somehow  the  only  power 
ready  to  install  itself  in  the  vacant  shrine." 

To  permeate  a  vast  commonwealth  like  ours 
with  a  desire  for  beauty  in  daily  life,  and  to  bring 
to  all  the  people  forms  of  art  suited  to  their  capaci- 
ties and  needs,  would  seem  an  impossible  task, 
and  the  most  hopeful  vision  could  hardly  claim  to 
foresee  the  time  when  all  the  dark  places  will  be 
illumined.  And  yet  it  is  unsafe  to  set  any  metes 
and  bounds  to  progress  when  one  considers  what 
has  already  been  done.  Every  one  of  the  multi- 
farious endeavors  to  ameliorate  the  lot  of  the  toil- 
ers and  bring  to  them  higher  motives  and  oppor- 
tunities awakes  in  them  a  new  sense  of  the  value 
of  life,  and  whatever  stimulates  life  in  a  whole- 
some fashion  involves  the  expression  of  life,  and 
this  expression  either  takes  artistic  form  or  else 
creates  dispositions  out  of  which  come  natural 
issues  of  comeliness  and  order.  In  fact,  whatever 
makes  for  physical  and  spiritual  health,  answering 
to  an  inherent  need  of  expansion,  is  beautiful,  and 

26 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE   IINE  ARTS 

when  it  realizes  itself  in  permanent  form  that  form 
is  arsthetic. 

It  d«K*s  not  follow,  h«)wevir.  lii.it  tin-,  more  or 
leas  blind  impulse  amonn  massts  t>f  |K*oplc  will 
produce  what  is  refmctl  and  profitable  without  aid 
from  more  Icarnetl  sources.  The  jxroplc  at  large 
do  not  comiK)SC  or  paint  or  buiKl  or  |Kxrtize. 
Democratic  art  docs  not  mean  an  art  that  takes 
fi)rni  as  the  spontaneous  result  of  a  difTused  and 
unri-^ulate«l  instinit.  Such  an  art  diH*s,  indtx<l, 
appear  in  the  folk-sonR  and  folk -festival,  but  only 
ill  i»rimilive  social  conditions  and  in  a  homojjcncous 
group,  ami  Ixyond  this  early  stage  the  impulse  is 
either  arrested  or  it  develops  along  specialized  lines 
under  the  management  of  individual  talents.  This 
si>eciali/ed  art  rapidly  lx*comes  aristocratic,  and, 
except  in  such  exceptional  conditions  as  those  of 
the  perio<l  of  the  Gothic  cathedral  builders,  the 
mass  of  the  iK'oi)le  withdraw  from  any  participa- 
tion in  art  proiluction  and,  in  a  multitude  of  in- 
stances, from  any  share  in  its  benefits.  In  a  com- 
mercial age  like  ours,  when  at  the  same  time  vast 
numbers  of  people  seek  relief  from  lalwr  in  the 
most  accessible  means  for  entertainment,  the  ad- 
vantage is  taken  by  sjK'Culators,  who,  under  the 
pretense  of  giving  the  people  what  they  want, 
i  their  patrons   by   making   them   iK'lievc 

I  .  want  just  what  their  e.xploiiers  can  fur- 

nish at  the  greatest  fK-cuniary  protU  to  themselves. 
There  is  not  and  there  never  wxs  a  community 
so  degraded   lliat  its   taste   could   not  be   raised 

a? 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

whenever  an  honest  attempt  was  made  in  that 
direction.  It  follows  that  improvement  of  public 
taste,  which  goes  along  with  improvement  in  health 
and  morals,  can  always  be  effected  where  wise  and 
unselfish  efforts  are  made  toward  that  end.  There 
is  one  species  of  organized  benevolence  which  has 
already  found  the  true  method  and  begun  to  put 
it  into  practice,  and  that  is  the  work  of  the  Social 
Settlements.  These  establishments  are  bringing 
music,  the  drama,  and  many  forms  of  art  practice 
directly  to  those  who  have  been  deprived  of  this 
their  birthright  —  showing  the  way  to  the  democ- 
ratization of  art  in  the  only  way  it  can  be  democ- 
ratized, viz.,  by  bringing  the  contributions  of  the 
aristocracy  of  intellect  and  genius  to  the  people 
in  a  form  and  upon  terms  which  procure  a  general 
acceptance.  For  intellect  and  genius,  although  it 
constitutes  a  class,  reaches  over  the  boundaries  of 
class  whenever  it  finds  a  qualified  order  of  media- 
tors. Its  messages  prove  to  be  not  exclusive  but 
universal  when  the  proper  interpretation  is  secured, 
and  the  third  estate  proves  by  its  response,  when 
the  experiment  is  fairly  tried,  that  the  enjoyment 
of  beautiful  things  is  not  a  boon  which  nature  has 
restricted,  and  that  special  privilege  in  the  gratifi- 
cation of  intellectual  taste,  as  well  as  in  the  ac- 
quisition of  wealth,  is  inconsistent  with  the  demo- 
cratic ideal. 

Provision  for  the  popular  need  must  be  made, 
in  the  first  instance,  by  those  to  whom  has  been 
given  the  insight  and  the  opportunity.     Develop- 

28 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  FL\E  ARTS 

mcnl  of  the  love  of  beauty  in  art  must  be  made  — 
as  it  ii  bcinj;  made  -  an  essential  element  in  fjopu- 
lar  c<iucalion.  It  is  the  function  of  the  variom 
agencies  that  exist  for  the  benefit  of  the  masses  - 
social  settlements,  women's  clubs,  municipal  de- 
partments concerned  with  public  recreation,  above 
all,  {X'rhaps,  colleges  and  schools.  The  latter  have 
this  advantage,  that  they  arc  conccrne<l  with  edu- 
cation alone  and  are  never  comjK'lled  to  compro- 
mise. Not  only  that,  but  out  of  their  halls  come 
the  teachers  who  must  be  leaders  in  the  cause  of 
culture  —  men  and  women  whose  taste  must  it- 
self be  rightly  groundctl  and  who  arc  instructed 
in  the  meth(xls  by  which  art  in  its  purity  may  be 
disseminated.  The  college  is  required  by  its  very 
relation  to  the  community  to  be  both  a  beacon 
tower  of  culture  and  a  training-ground  for  those 
who  are  to  carry  the  light  into  the  dark  places. 

VI 

In  the  inevitable  process  of  adaptation  to  the 
changing  demands  of  the  age  the  colleges  arc 
compelled,  from  time  to  time,  to  add  new  dejxirt- 
menLs  to  the  curriculum,  and  a  comparison  of 
their  present  catalogues  with  those  of  twenty  or 
thirty  years  ago  will  show  that,  while  they  have 
been  conservative,  they  have  not  been  ultra- 
conservative.  In  view  of  their  responsibilities  as 
guardians  as  well  as  discoverers  of  truth,  their 
caution  must,  on  the  whole,  be  held  a  virtue.     But 

2g 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

that  they  should  have  so  conspicuously  lagged  be- 
hind in  the  advancement  of  art  culture  that  even 
now  many  of  them  give  little  or  no  opportunity 
to  their  students  to  acquire  knowledge  of  the  won- 
derful history  of  art  or  its  significance,  to  develop 
appreciation  and  judgment  in  respect  to  the  achieve- 
ments of  fine  art  that  are  accumulating  around 
them,  or  to  contribute  intelligently  to  those  cul- 
tural movements  which  are  already  giving  a  new 
aspect  to  the  national  life  —  all  this  seems  to  call 
for  explanation.  The  most  evident  reason  for  the 
neglect  of  interests  which  have  been  universal  in 
history,  and  which  have  a  vital  relationship  to 
essential  elements  in  human  character  and  its  so- 
cial development,  is  that  until  recently  there  has 
been  no  understanding  on  the  part  of  the  people, 
or  even  on  the  part  of  those  who  have  been  most 
influential  in  determining  the  direction  of  national 
effort,  that  aesthetic  interests  are  universal  and 
have  a  vital  relation  to  essential  elements  in  indi- 
vidual and  collective  progress.  The  early  colonists 
had  no  such  conviction  —  the  most  aggressive  fac- 
tor, the  Puritans,  least  of  all;  and  later  the  con- 
flicts of  the  Revolutionary  and  constitutional  peri- 
ods, the  bitter  political  struggles  accompanying  the 
period  of  territorial  expansion,  and  after  the  Civil 
War  the  absorption  of  the  most  militant  energies 
in  the  organization  of  vast  industrial  enterprises 
and  the  accumulation  of  wealth  —  these  circum- 
stances were  distinctly  unfavorable  to  the  culture 
of  art.     Not  only  that,  but  these  events  and  tend- 

30 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  FLVE  ARTS 

cndcs  prcxlucwl  a  national  tyjK'  of  min<l  that  was 
unreteplivc  to  the  delicate,  esoteric  culture  of  art. 
A&j»txiati«)ns  of  feebleness  were  attached  to  the 
words  icsthclic,  iileal,  connoi.vseur,  Inxausc  these 
terms  stotxl  for  an  idea  which  was  not  associated 
with  anything  that  was  inherent  in  the  nationaJ 
character  or  the  national  history.  The  only  art 
that  w;ls  in  any  way  known  to  the  people  was  for- 
eign, not  iniliKcnous.  It  had  no  root  in  the  sub- 
soil of  national  consciousness  and  tradition.  It 
was  imiKjrtetl.  artificial,  not  consecrated  by  asso- 
ciations with  tlu*  growth  of  national  ideals.  Hence 
the  cullivalion  of  art  was  confincil  to  a  few  who 
looketl  abroad  rather  than  at  home  for  models  and 
inspiration.  Their  work,  for  lack  of  [x^pular  sym- 
luthy  and  ct>-<)peration.  retained  for  many  deca<les 
a  restricted,  dilettante  character,  chiefly,  in  spite 
of  notable  exceptions,  imitative,  narrow,  and  timid. 
It  Ls  only  very  recently  that  we  see  signs  of  the 
growth  of  an  art  that  can  arouse  the  interest  of 
the  people  at  large  and  be  accepted  by  them  as 
an  cxpressitin  of  a  need  which  they  feel  as  Ameri- 
cans who  have  a  destiny  that  is  peculiarly  their 
own. 

The  great  awakening  has  come  —  the  advance 
in  the  appreciation  of  art.  its  production  by  na- 
tive genius,  its  application  to  the  [):  '  i  of 
civic  and  industrial  progress.  Ls  pr  in 
America  with  a  rapidity  unparalleled  in  history, 
and  yet  the  colleges  as  a  whole  still  hesitate  and 
demur.     The  current  swee|>s  around   them,   pro- 

3» 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

ducing  wonderful  changes  in  the  national  life,  and 
they  give  but  little  more  heed  to  it  than  they  did 
to  the  doctrine  of  evolution  forty  years  ago.  It 
cannot  be  that  they  are  ignorant  of  the  place  that 
art  has  held  in  the  great  civilizations  of  the  past, 
but  they  are  not  yet  under  strong  conviction  in 
regard  to  the  place  it  is  to  hold  in  the  near  future. 
More  than  all  else  as  a  cause  of  delay  —  there  is 
still  a  disposition  among  the  leaders  in  the  higher 
education  to  underrate  the  importance  of  those 
factors  in  human  consciousness  to  which  the  fine 
arts  appeal.  They  do  not  realize  how  large  a  part 
the  faculties  of  aesthetic  appreciation  and  imagina- 
tion, and  the  capacities  for  emotional  enjoyment 
play  in  human  welfare.  The  service  of  art,  it  is 
well  understood,  is  to  give  delight,  and  the  average 
college  educator  cannot  rid  himself  of  the  notion 
that  anything  that  gives  delight  must  come  easily, 
and  therefore  ought  to  be  excluded  from  the  rigid 
college  scheme,  or  else  relegated  to  a  subordinate 
position.  Hence  the  neglect  of  the  imagination 
and  the  feeling,  and  the  almost  exclusive  weight 
thrown  upon  observation,  reasoning,  and  memory, 
especially  the  latter.  To  use  Mr.  Frederic  Har- 
rison's phrases  :  the  college  government  cannot 
**  purge  education  from  its  purely  intellectual  con- 
notation" and  take  it  to  mean  "the  training  of  the 
heart,  of  the  emotion,  of  character,  as  well  as  the 
training  of  the  understanding." 

There  is  no  plainer  illustration  of  this  tendency 
to  sacrifice  the  inculcation  of  spirit  to  form  than 

32 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE   FINE  ARTS 

the  mcthcxis  of  dealing  with  poetry  which  have 
prcvailetl  in  many  colleges,  universities,  and  sec- 
ondary sch<K)ls:  the  '  vice  of  poetry  —  to 
arouse  the  spiritual  p«  is,  reveal  the  funda- 
mentals of  life  antl  quicken  the  sense  of  l>eauty  — 
being  ignore*!  in  behalf  of  grammar,  philology, 
metrics,  literary  and  historic  allusions  --  things 
that  can  Ik*  made  the  subjects  of  examinations. 
PiK'try.  being  a  fme  art.  is  the  result  of  the  union 
of  a  stHii  with  somctliing  that  it  contemplates,  and 
it  is  hard  for  a  teacher  to  fmd  any  way  of  getting 
at  the  subjective  factor  in  the  case  and  drawing 
it  out  for  scrutiny.  And  st).  if  the  primary  element 
in  poetr>'  is  sufficient  unto  itself  in  making  its  ap- 
peal, if  the  deep  things  of  {XK-lry  must  be  intui- 
tively disct-rnetl  if  discernetl  at  all,  what  Ls  there 
for  the  professor  to  do  ercept  to  add  some  elocu- 
tionary skill,  which  he  may  fortunately  possess, 
to  the  rcaling  of  poetry  to  his  class  and  then 
leave  it  to  work  its  own  way?  Of  course  there  is 
much  more  for  him  to  do  than  that,  but  he  must 
be  a  good  deal  of  a  jxiet  himself  to  do  it,  even  if 
"wanting  the  faculty  of  verse,"  and  hence  the 
sufficient  teacher  of  i)oetr>'  is  a  rare  phenomenon. 
Here  is  the  centre  of  the  problem  -  the  first 
necessity  and  the  tantalizing  difficulty.  A  com- 
plete education  includes  the  nurture  of  the  in- 
tuitive [Kiwers,  the  cultivation  of  the  instincts 
which  spring  to  meet  those  spiritual  communica- 
tions which  cannot  be  analyzed  or  weighed  or 
measured,  cannot  even  be  demonstrated  by  one 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

who  feels  them  to  one  who  feels  them  not  —  intu- 
itions and  latent  capacities  which  blend  with  the 
active  faculties  to  compose  the  full  life  of  the  rea- 
son. No  serious  thinker  will  disregard  the  needs 
of  the  emotional  nature.  "What  sort  of  science 
is  that,"  exclaimed  Thoreau,  "which  enriches  the 
understanding  but  robs  the  imagination?"  The 
real  man  is  found  not  in  what  he  does,  not  even 
in  what  he  thinks,  but  in  what  he  feels.  "As  for 
a  thought,"  says  Maeterlinck,  "it  may  be  decep- 
tive, but  the  love  wherewith  we  have  loved  it  will 
surely  return  to  our  soul.  ...  It  is  the  feelings 
awakened  in  us  by  thought  that  ennoble  and 
brighten  our  life."  Feeling  is  the  very  essence  of 
self-consciousness;  it  tests  the  worth  of  every  ex- 
perience; it  is  the  organ  that  apprehends  the  reality 
that  underlies  all  external  phenomena.  Emotion 
is  inseparably  allied  with  that  power  which  enables 
the  subject  to  co-ordinate  perceptions  and  create 
out  of  isolated  experiences  an  actuaUty  which  cor- 
responds to  certain  innate  demands  of  his  spiritual 
nature.  This  power,  when  it  perceives  new  rela- 
tionships and  shapes  them  into  the  embodiment  of 
an  idea,  becomes  creative  imagination;  and  when 
it  perceives  the  significance  of  another's  creation 
and  appropriates  that  to  the  satisfaction  of  its 
own  spiritual  needs  it  becomes  sympathetic  imag- 
ination. In  either  case  the  imagination  forbids 
the  mind  to  remain  content  with  analysis;  it  con- 
stantly seeks  a  synthesis,  and  the  warrant  of  the 
value  of  this  synthesis  is  found  in  terms  of  the 

34 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

emotional  reaction.  Imagination  constantly  en- 
larges life  by  sulTusing  it  with  emotion,  leading 
from  the  ex|H.Tience  of  a  single  faculty  to  the  ex- 
perience of  the  whole  nature.  This  consciousness, 
to  which  one's  whole  being  vil)rates,  Is  inevitably 
attemled  by  joy,  and  hence  it  is  that  the  function 
of  art  is  universally  antl  rightly  held  to  Ik*  to  give 
delight.  There  is  the  delight  of  the  artist  —  of 
him  wh(^  exercises  creative  imagination;  and  there 
is  the  ililight  of  the  art-lover  —  of  him  who  exer- 
cises sympathetic  imagination.  The  delight  of  the 
latter  may  \)c  even  more  wholesome  and  unselfish 
than  that  of  the  former,  for  in  his  contemplation 
he  escajK's  from  his  own  native  limitations  into 
another  and  fK>ssibly  higher  cxjK'riencc,  finding 
fellowship  not  only  with  the  artist's  mind  but  also 
with  all  minds  that  receive  the  same  communica- 
tion and  share  the  same  uplift.  The  service  of 
works  of  art  is.  therefore,  a  liberating  scr\'ice. 
This  healthful  stimulus  is  most  completely  afTorde<i 
by  those  works  of  art  which  embody  truths  that 
He  nearest  to  the  basis  of  a  common  human  nature. 
Their  etiucativc  jxiwer  lies  in  the  fact  that  they 
give  us  truth  in  distinct  concrete  form,  so  adapted 
to  our  natural  [KTceplions  that  they  not  only  con- 
vince but  also  |)ersuade  and  comjx^l  the  allegiance 
of  our  sympathy.  '  The  concrete  is  always  more 
efficient  as  a  stimulating  influence  than  the  ab- 
stract. Generali/eii  apixrals,  description  of  right 
feelings,  and  exhortations  to  feel  in  a  certain  way 
because  it  b  right  su  to  feel  have  little  cflc*ct  upon 

35 


MUSIC  AND   THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

us.  "Art  and  literature,"  says  President  Henry 
C.  King,  "make  an  appeal  that  no  abstract  prin- 
ciple or  ideal  can  make.  We  can  never  speak  in 
general.  We  can  never  act  in  general.  We  can 
never  be  good  in  general.  It  is  all  in  particulars. 
We  have  no  way  of  expressing  a  general  principle 
but  by  putting  it  into  some  definite,  concrete,  in- 
dividual action.  Now  art  and  literature  give  us 
always  such  a  concrete  embodiment  of  an  ideal, 
and  so  approach  the  strongest  of  all  influences  — 
the  influence  of  a  person." 

We  are  educated  by  experiences  that  attach  to 
previous  experiences,  and  not  by  mere  assertions 
that  may  be  true  for  him  who  makes  them  but 
have  no  meaning  for  us  unless  they  find  a  coun- 
terpart in  our  minds.     Through  the  sympathetic 
imagination  we  enter  into  the  thing  brought  before 
us   and   take   possession.     Everything   that   thus 
awakens  the  sympathetic  imagination  has  an  edu- 
[      cational  potency.     Its  permanence  depends  upon 
\     the  feeling  it  excites.     Feelings  are  the  material  of 
\  character.     It  is  of  supreme  importance,  therefore, 
]  that  the  chosen  objects  which  exercise  an  emotional 
■  power  over  us  should  be  such  as  stimulate  the  emo- 
tion to  healthful  activity  —  an  activity  that  does 
\      not  merely  turn  back  upon  itself  but  desires  to  go 
"",    forward  into  some  profitable  deed.     Such  objects 
arouse  a  love  of  that  which  elevates  and  refines 
and  seeks  a  channel  outward  into  life.     Works  of 
art  are  not  isolated  from  the  lives  of  their  creators 
or  from  our  own  life.     They  are  experiences.     A 

I  36 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  FL\E  ARTS 

love  for  one  of  them,  whether  it  l>c  a  work  that  is 
gooti  or  l>a<I,  draws  it  into  ourselves;  it  hecomrn 
forever  a  |>art  o{  us,  it  is  an  ilt-m  in  the  formation 
of  character.  What  more  serious  factor  in  edu- 
cation can  Ix;  found  than  in  tht>sf  works  of  litera- 
ture and  art  in  which  great  artists  have  incoqxjratcd 
their  visions,  their  longings,  their  great  human 
sympathies?  And  is  it  not  an  advantage  that 
students  have  a  right  to  demand,  that  these  mes- 
sages from  the  most  gifted,  the  most  representative, 
minds  of  the  race  shall  Ik*  hroui^ht  Ix'forc  them  and 
enabled,  by  the  help  of  wist-  intnKluclion,  to  act 
the  humanizing  part  for  which  they  were  designed  ? 

VII 

If  the  young  men  and  women  of  the  college  were 
rcceinng  no  aesthetic  impressions  at  all  outside 
their  prescribed  studies  the  question  would  be 
somewhat  different  from  what  it  Ls.  But  they 
are  constantly  receiving  them  from  a  multitude 
of  sources,  not  only  >*'ithin  the  college  circle,  but 
still  more  the  moment  they  step  lx*yond  it.  These 
external  impre»ions  are  derived  from  the  amuse- 
ments which  have  taken  so  large  a  place  in  Ameri- 
can life,  and  from  the  outdoor  objects  which  the 
dtics  and  towns  olTer  the  obserNcr  at  every  turn  — 
tome  beautiful,  the  vast  majority  ugly.  In  addi- 
tion to  the  unde>ir.il)le  influeti  '  iverywherc 
lie  in  wail,  there  are,  happily.  >  .  plays,  and 
art  exhibitions,  besides  fmc  buildings  and  monu- 

37 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

merits,  whose  impressions  are  capable  of  exerting 
the  best  service  if  one  knew  how  to  apply  a  dis- 
criminating judgment.  The  college  should  recog- 
nize the  fact  that  a  process  of  aesthetic  change  is 
constantly  going  on  in  the  minds  of  its  young 
people  for  better  or  worse,  and  if  the  regulation  of 
these  preferences  is  of  any  importance  in  education 
it  is  the  plain  duty  of  the  college  to  afford  some 
guidance,  in  order  that  the  higher  tendencies  may 
be  reinforced  in  their  conflict  with  the  lower. 

It  is  undeniable  that  the  baser  attractions  are 
more  powerful  than  ever  before  in  the  sphere  in 
which  the  youth  of  this  country  habitually  dwell. 
To  say  nothing  of  other  causes  —  certain  mechan- 
ical inventions,  such  as  the  electric  motor,  the  cine- 
matograph, the  phonograph,  have  made  places  of 
amusement  and  the  least  intellectual  kinds  of  en- 
tertainment cheap  and  easily  accessible  to  prac- 
tically the  entire  population.  In  this  age,  when 
almost  everything  of  general  use  is  syndicated, 
irresponsible  exploiters  have  grasped  the  business 
of  public  amusement,  and,  having  no  motive  except 
the  making  of  money,  their  method  consists  in 
engaging  the  senses  before  reflection  has  had  a 
chance  to  effect  a  delay  in  the  acceptance  of  the 
lure,  and  in  taking  advantage  of  the  passion  for 
novelty  which  grows  by  what  it  feeds  on.  It  is 
of  the  greatest  importance,  therefore,  that  while 
large  masses  of  people  are  demanding  aesthetic 
gratification,  and  will  have  it,  good  or  bad,  organi- 
zations that  are  free  from  the  commercial  tempta- 

38 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

tion  should  bestir  themselves  to  make  head  against 
the  influences  that  work  for  the  degradation  of 
intelligence.  That  thry  arc  doing  so  is  one  of  the 
most  cheering  signs  of  the  times.  Wc  sec  the 
cities,  one  after  another,  organizing  Independence 
Day  and  Christmas  pageants,  municipal  art  mu- 
seums springing  up  everywhere,  one  of  them, 
the  Toletlo  Mu.seum,  setting  the  magnificent  ex- 
ample of  an  art  gallery  built  by  jwpular  subscrii>- 
tion,  the  children  and  factory  lal)orers  having  a 
share.  Wc  see  women's  clubs  entering  into  public 
activities,  socdaJ  settlements  bringing  the  blessings 
of  beauty  to  the  poorest,  public  schools  adorning 
their  waJls  with  works  of  art  and  establishing  cho- 
ruses, orchestras,  and  dramatic  companies.  All 
this  and  more  is  a  token  of  the  growth  of  a  con- 
ception that  the  popular  taste  and  wholesome  rec- 
reation are  as  much  an  affair  of  the  whole  social 
group  as  hygiene  or  physical  comfort. 

In  spite  of  these  marks  of  progress,  discordant 
notes  till  the  air,  and  even  a  slight  amount  of  ol>- 
scrvation  vnU  show  that  the  condition  of  afTairs, 
even  in  the  so-calletl  higher  circles,  is  still  deplora- 
ble. Mr.  William  M.  Rce<ly  writes:  "I  know  that 
the  stage  and  the  novel  are  getting  to  be  coarse 
and  vulgar,  but  they  only  reflect  life.  Our  s>^tcm 
of  home  training,  our  system  of  education,  our 
system  of  commercial  procedure,  even  much  of 
our  professional  development  —  all  is  lacking  in 
a  foundation  of  taste  and  culture."  Thi>sc  who 
know  the  character  of  the  music  and  verse  most 

39 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

sung  by  our  young  people  in  their  homes,  the  pic- 
tures they  see  in  the  newspapers  (the  only  pictures 
that  multitudes  of  them  ever  see),  the  kind  of 
books  they  read,  are  aware  that  Mr.  Reedy  has 
much  reason  for  his  gloomy  diagnosis.  And  the 
home  and   the  school   are  primarily  responsible. 

,    h'The  defect  in  our  school  life,  as  in  our  social 

I  life,"  says  Mr.  Percival  Chubb,  "that  it  communi- 

,1  cates  no  quickening  sense  of  the  poetry  of  life,  is 

'  I  inseparably  bound  up  with  its  neglect  of  the  emo- 
tions. Our  education  runs  to  brain  and  starves 
the  feelings." 

The  antidote  for  the  evil  Hes  not  in  preaching 
or  censorship  but  in  offering  better  examples. 
*'The  only  thing  that  can  kill  an  idea,"  some  one 
has  said,  ''is  another  idea."  The  college  exerts 
wholesome  powder  over  youth  not  merely  by  verbal 
teaching  but  by  providing  illustrations.  "A  spirit 
communicated,"  said  Stevenson,  "is  a  perpetual 
possession."  In  the  presence  of  works  of  beauty 
there  is  constant  hope:  a  virtue  goes  out  from  them 
that  will  win  many  hearts.  It  is  a  part  of  the 
mission  of  the  college  to  bring  to  its  students  things 
that  are  pure  and  strong  in  literature,  music,  plastic 
art,  and  the  drama,  trusting  to  the  power  of  sug- 
gestion to  awaken  a  taste  for  what  is  lovely  and 
of  good  report  by  means  of  direct  contact  with 
works  that  embody  those  qualities. 

"There  is  [in  our  colleges],"  says  Mr.  Percival 
Chubb  again,  "a  great  poverty  of  cultural  resource, 
a  lack  of  interest  in  the  fmc  arts,  in  the  best  drama 

40 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  FLVE  ARTS 

and  muruc  and  the  graphic  arts.  The  university 
cannot  consider  its  life  and  its  |)I;int  complete 
without  those  agencies  out  of  wljich  the  ftslival 
spirit  and  impulse  would  naturally  grow  a  the- 
atre where  the  In'st  plays  may  Ik*  stx-n  and  the 
best  dramatic  talent  of  the  university  utilize<l;  a 
hall  of  mu5uc  where  the  great  classics  of  the  art 
may  Ix?  continually  heard  and  the  musical  aliility 
of  the  college  students  cultivated;  a  picture-gal- 
lery where  some  examples  of  the  best  art  and  copies 
of  the  great  masters  may  be  shown;  a  museum  akin 
to  the  great  museums  of  Germany,  in  which  the 
finest  and  most  interesting  products  of  past  dv-ili- 
zation,  products  of  all  the  arts  and  crafts,  may 
be  preserveil.  Only  in  this  way  may  wc  standard- 
ize the  taste  and  enrich  the  culture  of  our  college 
students  and  develop  that  many-si  '    '  of  in- 

terest in  life  on  the  ba.si^  of  which  >i  i  must 

achieve  its  best  results. ' 

The  one  thinR  needful  i.s  liial  the  real  sij;niricance 
of  art,  its  necessity  as  demonstrale<l  in  history  and 
modem  life,  should  be  revealed  to  college  students 
in  a  convincing  manner.  They  must  l>e  led  to 
aec  that  it  is  not  a  mere  decoration  and  emlx-llish- 
rocnt  of  life  on  the  one  side,  nor  on  the  other  an  in- 
ferior copy  of  somethiii  -cil  to  l>e  greater, 
viz.,  Nature.  They  mu  '  n  op{X)rt unities  to 
discover  that  art  is  a  revelation  of  the  human  soul 
and  in  turn  pr  ;he  Ufe  of  the  st)ul  by  the 
suggestive  inco^  i  of  the  ideal.  They  must 
be  helped  to  believe  that  art  furnishes  them  an 

41 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

instruction  and  a  training  that  unite  with  the 
agencies  of  knowledge  which  they  have  accepted 
from  childhood  up,  to  form  with  these  a  unity  of 
thought  and  experience. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  such  lessons  are  learned 
with  more  difl5culty  by  college  men  than  by  col- 
lege women,  and  in  such  discussions  as  this  college 
men  are  especially  held  in  view.  The  recent  prog- 
ress of  interests  commonly  called  cultural  has 
been  greatly  accelerated  by  the  entrance  of  young 
women  into  the  academic  sphere;  but  even  this 
fact,  at  first  glance  so  conclusive  as  to  the  position 
of  art  in  the  college,  may  conceivably  act,  in  many 
instances,  unfavorably  upon  the  masculine  mind 
so  far  as  the  acceptance  of  higher  aesthetic  influ- 
ences is  concerned.  For  the  young  man  of  college 
age  is  naturally  inclined  to  consider  the  superior 
sensitiveness  to  art  and  poetry  on  the  part  of  his 
sisters  as  a  further  proof  of  the  essential  effeminacy 
of  such  tastes,  and  even  be  hardened  in  his  phihs- 
tine  ways  by  the  softer  presence  near  which  he 
dwells.  This  is  a  real  obstacle  and  not  to  be  de- 
spised. Whatever  remedies  there  may  be  (and  un- 
questionably a  wise  instruction  in  the  history  of 
art  is  the  most  efifective),  the  art  that  is  offered 
must  be  an  art  that  manifestly  reveals  the  strength 
and  nobiUty  of  humanity.  Let  the  young  man 
find  in  painting,  in  poetry,  in  music  something  that 
is  palpably  akin  to  his  own  virile  nature  and  he 
will  give  to  it  the  pledge  of  brotherhood.  It  must 
appeal  to  him  as  having  character  and  substance; 

42 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

daintiness,  dilcttantcism,  preciosity  arc  not  in  the 
line  of  the  American  college  man.  He  must  be 
made  to  sec  that  a  really  earnest  art  is  not  the 
expression  of  anythinR  that  is  inherently  contrary 
to  the  gootl  that  he  finds  in  his  manly  exercises. 
He  must  learn  that  beauty  has  very  wide  connota- 
tions—  that  it  is  to  be  sought  in  the  g>'mnasium 
and  the  athletic  field  as  well  as  in  the  picture- 
galler>';  that  health  implies  beauty  and  beauty 
health.  Among  the  Greeks  art  was  a  national  ex- 
pression because  it  was  the  natural  cfllorescencc 
of  that  physical  and  mental  vigor  and  i>oisc  which 
had  become  the  ideal  of  the  race.  There  is  no 
reason  why  the  even  balance  of  faculty,  which  is 
becoming  the  aim  in  American  academic  culture, 
should  not  involve  an  increasing  desire  for  forms 
that  arc  gratifying  to  the  senses  and  emotions  as 
well  as  to  the  understanding. 

VIII 

By  bringing  the  fine  arts  into  the  college  and 
university  system  these  institutions  will  inevitably 
exert  an  influence  ujx^n  the  general  course  of  art 
protluction  by  means  of  the  standards  of  judgment 
which  they  will  help  to  establish.  Whether  or  no 
the  art  schools  ever  become  allied  with  tlic  colleges, 
the  attitude  of  the  college,  from  the  very  fact  that 
it  is  the  home  of  learning,  its  habit  research  and 
reflection,  will  l)c  a  critical,  conservative  attitude. 
Revolutionary  tendencies  often  appear  in  the  col- 

43 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

lege,  but  among  the  students  rather  than  the  fac- 
ulty. The  college  almost  invariably  stands  as  an 
ally  of  the  estabHshed  order  —  this  position  be- 
ing often  reactionary  and  obstructive,  but  on  the 
whole,  no  doubt,  salutary.  Its  aim,  through  the 
methods  of  scholarship,  is  to  make  reason  prevail, 
its  temper  one  of  caution  and  dehberation.  In 
view  of  its  responsibility  to  the  young  minds  under 
its  charge,  it  prefers  to  err,  if  at  all,  on  the  side 
of  conserv^atism.  What  has  been  accomphshed  in 
any  field  of  thought  can  be  tested  by  its  results; 
and  in  those  branches  of  study  in  which  opinion, 
as  distinct  from  demonstration,  holds  sway  (as, 
for  instance,  social  science  and  ethics,  where  final 
solutions  are  as  yet  unattained  and  perhaps  un- 
attainable) the  effort  of  instruction  will  be  to  im- 
part ideas  which  experience  deems  sound,  rather 
than  to  turn  the  mind  loose  upon  an  uncharted 
sea,  exposed  to  all  the  \vinds  of  speculation.  The 
new  problems  must,  of  course,  be  faced,  but 
decision  should  be  postponed  until  the  mind  is 
trained  to  perceive  relations  and  weigh  evidence. 
To  achieve  this  result  the  method  must  be  one 
that  may  be  called,  in  general  terms,  the  com- 
parative method,  and  this  impHes  a  submission  to 
prudent  deliberation  rather  than  surrender  to  pas- 
sionate impulse.  Hence,  the  tendency  of  college 
teaching  is  to  seek  authority  and  to  defer  to  it. 

To  induce  deference  to  this  principle  in  the  mind 
of  ardent  youth  is  becoming  more  and  more  diffi- 
cult.   The  colleges  have  long  ago  ceased  to  be 

44 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  FLVE  ARTS 

doLstcrctl  folds  of  meditation,  if  they  ever  were  so 
in  this  country,  and  have  l>oc<)me  f«Ki  of  many 
agitations  that  had  thi-ir  birthplace  outside.  No 
ideas,  however  hetenxlox.  can  be  cxcludctl.  If  the 
faculty  do  not  furnish  them  the  students  will 
snatch  tlicm  from  the  atmosphere,  and  often  give 
them  an  application  which  the  faculty  would  not  en- 
courage if  they  knew.  This  situation  has  impostxJ 
a  new  rcsjxjnsibility  ujwn  the  college  professor. 
He  cannot  remain  an  expounder  of  traditional 
conceptions  to  tractable  and  deferential  youth. 
Authority,  challengeil  in  the  church,  sits  some- 
what insecurely  u[x)n  iLs  herctiitary  college  throne. 
The  professor  must  bo  alive  to  the  movements  of 
the  age  which  do  not  emanate  from  the  learncxl 
order  to  which  he  belongs.  His  business  is  to  keep 
his  own  head  steady  and  help  his  pupils  to  acquire 
habits  of  cautious  scrutiny  which,  if  they  do  not 
guarantee  correct  conclusion,  arc  yet  its  primary 
condition. 

One  advantage  at  least  the  professor  holds  in  his 
grasp  —  he  can  choose  his  text-U>ok  and  his  illus- 
trations and  he  can  assign  readings  that  accord 
with  his  own  opinions.  His  students,  in  their 
vcr>'  criticism  of  his  i>osition,  are  to  a  large  extent 
dqxrndenl  upon  the  material  which  their  would-be 
director  furnishes.  The  use  which  the  preceptor 
makes  of  this  op|)ortunity  for  leading  his  tlock  in 
his  own  chosen  way  is  a  test  of  his  conscience  and 
his  wisdom.  It  depends  up>on  whether  he  chooses 
to  leave  them  free  to  seek  the  truth  that  hides,  or 

45 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

to  assume  that  truth  is  found  and  his  disciples 
have  only  to  feed  upon  it.  The  determination 
will  rest  upon  certain  conditions,  such  as  the  nature 
of  the  subject  and  the  age  and  composition  of  the 
class.  It  is  a  fruitful  subject  for  debate  and  need 
not  be  dwelt  upon  here.  But  in  those  depart- 
ments in  which  aesthetic  taste  is  in  question  a 
large  amount  of  authority  may  be  exercised  with- 
out challenge.  Certainly  the  instructor  must  not 
attempt  to  domineer  over  the  individual  prefer- 
ences of  his  pupils  —  declaring,  for  instance,  that 
Raphael  or  Bach  must  be  admired  and  Monet  or 
Debussy  must  not  be  —  for  love  Hes  outside  of 
law;  but  he  has  the  right  to  stand  on  guard  against 
the  intrusion  of  whatever  he  honestly  deems  de- 
moralizing aesthetically  or  ethically.  The  question 
comes  near  to  that  of  ethics;  dogmatism  is  safer 
than  unprincipled  Hcense.  Especial  circumspec- 
tion, perhaps,  is  needed  in  aesthetics,  for  most 
young  people  are  safely  grounded  on  fundamental 
moral  principles,  while  their  notions  concerning 
art  are  usually  chaotic.  As  the  college  does  not 
allow  the  students  any  choice  in  regard  to  the 
books  that  are  to  be  added  to  the  library  or  the 
pictures  that  are  to  hang  in  its  art  gallery,  neither 
does  it,  or  should  it,  leave  wholly  to  them  the  de- 
termination of  the  dramas  to  be  performed,  the 
singers  and  players  to  be  engaged,  or  the  composi- 
tions to  be  heard  in  the  concert  hall.  The  under- 
graduates may  seek  the  moving-picture  show,  the 
vaudeville,  and  the  musical  comedy,  if  such  be 

46 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE   FIN'E  ARTS 

their  inclination,  but  within  the  college  control 
there  is  to  be  found  t)nly  that  which  is  authentic 
and  a|)i>rovcd.  This  implicit  censorship  has  |)os- 
aibly  been  overstriclly  enforced,  but  it  must  be 
rememlK'retl  that  the  college  art  world  is  not  one 
in  which  works  of  art  are  protluceti,  for  if  it  were 
80  then  the  secessionists,  the  futurists,  and  all 
other  species  of  revolutionaries  would  have  their 
rights  to  a  free  field  there;  but  the  college,  the 
place  where  "the  best  that  has  been  thought  and 
done  in  the  world  "  is  the  prime  object  of  study, 
is  eminently  concerneil  with  that  which  has  been 
delil>erately  tested  and  by  common  consent  found 
gcKxl  -  at  the  same  time,  be  it  observetl,  under 
b«ind  to  truth  to  acknowledge  that  in  art  as  in 
science  discoveries  are  still  to  be  made,  and  that 
everything  that  art  has  done  is  but  an  earnest  of 
the  things  that  it  shall  do. 

In  art,  therefore,  as  in  all  things,  the  college, 
while  it  ofTers  what  it  believes  to  be  the  best, 
will  wisely  leave  the  judgment  untrammelled.  Its 
duty  b  to  offer  to  the  neophyte  an  acquaintance 
with  whatsoever  things  give  warrant  of  excellence, 
to  exjKJund  their  place  in  history  and  their  p>crsonal 
use.  and  then  leave  them  to  do  their  perfect  work. 
While  it  is  unjust  to  attempt  to  tie  the  young 
mind  up  to  any  single  standard,  there  can  be  no 
question  that  the  first  condition  of  safe  judgment 
is  found  in  intelligent  contact  with  the  masters 
that  have  ruled  preceding  generations.  Bernard 
Shaw  and  Richard  Strauss  and  the  jx)st-impres- 

47 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

sionists  may  be  the  prophets  of  a  riper  age  than 
ours,  and  it  is  well  to  understand  their  teaching, 
yet  one  who  has  not  tried  the  spirits  of  Shake- 
speare, Beethoven,  and  Rembrandt  has  not  yet 
gained  the  experience  that  assures  a  calm,  broad, 
and  liberal  opinion  concerning  the  new  as  well  as 
the  old.  The  opportunities  for  the  acquisition  of 
such  enlightenment  the  college  is  in  a  position  to 
provide,  and  as  the  college  is  not  prone  to  be 
swayed  by  shifting  winds  of  doctrine  either  in  art 
or  philosophy,  its  co-operation  will  be  with  those 
tendencies  that  lead  to  the  discovery  and  main- 
tenance of  safe  standards. 

Bitter  reproaches  are  often  hurled  against  such 
establishments  as  the  French  Institute,  the  British 
and  American  Academies,  and  even  the  national 
art  museums,  on  the  ground  that  they  refuse  to 
recognize  new  tendencies  and  that  every  progress- 
ive movement  is  obliged  to  fight  for  its  Hfe  against 
their  powerful  subsidized  opposition.  These  com- 
plaints often  seem  just  —  the  official  censure  of 
such  men  as  Delacroix,  Millet,  and  Rousseau  ap- 
pears to  us  to-day  almost  as  a  crime;  but  even  the 
most  impatient  radical  must  confess  in  his  sober 
moments  that  on  the  whole  it  is  better  so.  Let 
those  institutions  whose  province  is,  directly  or 
indirectly,  to  teach  yield  at  once  to  every  clamor- 
ous applicant  for  admission,  and  artistic  chaos 
must  ensue.  Those  who  store  up  and  preserve 
for  coming  generations  incur  a  serious  responsi- 
bility, and  they  must  have  a  standard  of  measure. 

48 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  FLNE  ARTS 

All  things  must  be  proved  before  the  good  that  is 
tt)  Ik."  held  fast  can  l>o  found,  ami.  althouRh  ihc  de- 
serving will  often  sufTcT,  yet  it  is  Ix-^il  that  this 
proving-ground  should  be  in  the  wide  arena  of 
I'  ;l  and  not  in  the  sheltered  nurseries  of 


TX 

In  accepting  only  that  which  has  already  been 
verifjctl  antl  niriking  it  the  jxiint  of  departure  for 
further  investigation,  the  colleges  can  i)crform  a 
8cmcc  never  more  needed  than  at  the  present 
(lay.  This  is  an  age  which,  being  impatient  of  the 
n^i fictions  of  old  authority,  is  inclined  to  deny 
that  any  such  thing  as  authority  exists.  The  art 
schools  cannot  be  wholly  trusted  to  nuiintain  that 
wise  balance  of  forces  u[)on  which  right  progress 
depends  —  to  enforce  the  technical  discipline  and 
respect  for  prectnlent  which  was  one  source  of  the 
creative  achievement  of  Greece,  Italy,  Hollaml, 
and  France.  In  many  art  schools  the  watchwords 
arc  th«)!io  of  revolt.  There  Ls  revolt  against  train- 
ing, against  the  acquisition  of  broad  knowledge, 
against  deference  to  the  masters  of  old  times.  The 
:  t  student  is  eager  to  attack  new  problems, 
that  the  new  problems  are  often  super- 
ficial, and  that  there  are  certain  intrinsic  and  last- 
ing' pr  .M.  :ns  that  are  involvctl  in  all  art  work 
\i"::\  t...  i..  .^inning  ami  have  been  mightily  solvetl 
by  the  giants  of  past  days.     No  artist  b  in  a  posi- 

49 


MUSIC  AND   THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

tion  to  meet  the  demands  of  expression  which  the 
new  age  affords  until  he  is  firmly  grounded  in 
the  fundamentals  of  art  which  persist  amid  all 
the  changes  of  ideal  and  fashion.  "An  untrained 
and  not  naturally  sensitive  mind,"  says  Professor 
George  Santayana,  "cannot  distinguish  or  produce 
anything  good.  This  critical  incapacity  has  always 
been  a  cause  of  failure  and  a  just  ground  for  ridi- 
cule; but  it  remained  for  some  thinkers  of  our  time 
—  a  time  of  little  art  and  much  undisciplined  pro- 
duction —  to  erect  this  abuse  into  a  principle  and 
declare  that  the  essence  of  beauty  is  to  express 
the  artist  and  not  to  delight  the  world."  One 
proof  of  this  wise  maxim  is  that  none  of  the  great 
artists  whom  the  world  loves  to  honor  began  by 
being  revolutionary.  The  supreme  ages  of  art 
were  ages  of  discipline  and  reverence. 

The  novice  in  the  art  school  often  refuses  to 
(3  believe  that  the  essence  of  beauty  is  to  delight  the 
world  rather  than  to  express  the  artist.  To  be 
sure,  those  whose  work  has  been  a  constant  delight 
to  the  world  did  also  express  themselves;  but  what 
if  the  youthful  radical  has  nothing  to  express  — 
no  knowledge,  no  experience,  no  ideas?  Neither 
the  public  nor  the  connoisseurs  care  a  whit  for  an 
artist's  soul  just  because  it  is  his  soul,  but  only 
as  he  has  the  ability  to  add  something  of  beauty 
and  inspiration  to  the  world's  life.  How  shall  the 
young  student  obtain  knowledge,  experience,  ideas, 
and  how  shall  he  learn  to  project  them  in  forms 
that  will  delight  the  world  ?     Certainly  one  means, 

50 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  KLNE  ARIS 

not  to  be  ncglcctwl,  U  in  the  study  of  those  who 
have  dcmonst ratal  thb  twofold  mastery.  He 
need  not  nccivsarily  co|)y  their  processes,  but  he 
must  imbibe  their  spirit.  He  can  learn  from  them 
that  seeing  is  not  with  the  lenses  of  the  eye 
alone,  and  that  gixxl  work  is  not  producetl  merely 
by  thinking,  or  merely  by  instinct,  but  instinct, 
thought,  and  technical  drill  united  make  the  con- 
summate arti-st. 

The  unrest  of  the  time  has  scizeil  upon  art,  and, 
as  production  was  never  l>efore  so  abundant,  the 
spectacle  prescntetl  by  the  art  world  Ls  one  of 
confusion  and  discord.  One  of  the  tendencies  of 
the  age  is  to  exaggerate  every  mental  e.\|K*rience; 
the  condition  of  mind  most  in  favor  is  not  reflec- 
tion but  an  intense  craving  for  sensation  of  a  visid, 
exciting  kind;  and  whereas  in  early  periods,  such 
as  those  of  the  Crusades,  the  Renaissance,  and  the 
sixteenth-century  merchant  adventurers,  an  out- 
let for  ner\'ous  energy  was  foun<l  in  war,  discovery, 
and  in  the  sudilen  opening  of  new  areas  for  enter- 
prise, a  similar  restlessness  at  the  present  day  ex- 
pends itself  in  vagaries  of  imagination,  in  discon- 
tent with  s<Kial  repressions,  in  rebellion  against 
limitations  that  are  not  clearly  realized,  in  cravings 
that  turn  inward  and  prey  upon  themselves,  pro- 
ducing a  turmoil  of  the  spirit  whose  curse  is  that 
it  cannot  fmd  the  relief  that  comes  with  external 
action.  Everything  that  is  morbid  anil  sensational 
is  welcomed,  the  ner\'ous  s>-stem  is  irritated  into 
an  excessive  delicacy,  a  thirst  for  emotional  cx- 

5» 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

citement  seeks  to  gratify  itself  in  sources  which 
do  not  appease  but  further  stimulate.  Every  idea 
thrown  out  by  a  feverish  brain  is  caught  up  and 
made  the  fad  of  the  hour,  until  some  other,  equally 
ephemeral,  takes  its  place.  Life  seems  to  lose 
unity  and  continuity,  since  ideas  that  are  not  based 
upon  true  observation  and  experience  have  no 
power  of  mutual  support.  Here  and  there  the 
hopelessness  of  any  stable  result  becomes  appar- 
ent, and  a  despairmg  apathy  becomes  the  note  in 
literature. 

These  tendencies  seem  serious  enough  to  earnest 
minds  that  are  placed  in  close  contact  with  them, 
but  it  is  well  to  remember  that,  as  according  to 
Burke  we  may  not  draw  an  indictment  against  a 
whole  people,  we  must  likewise  be  cautious  in 
passing  judgment  upon  an  epoch.  The  literature 
and  art  in  which  these  decadent  tendencies  are 
manifest  is  a  city  art  and  literature,  and  we  know 
that  urban  life  and  thought  in  the  present  time 
of  swollen  and  congested  municipalities,  while 
highly  concentrated,  are  often  narrow  and  partial, 
the  very  conditions  of  a  compact,  furiously  competi- 
tive society  interfering  with  steadiness  and  whole- 
ness of  vision.  There  is  a  sound  undercurrent 
flowing  in  the  heart  of  the  race  which  is  not  evi- 
dent to  the  casual  observer  because  it  has  so  little 
expression  in  those  professional  literary  and  art 
circles  which,  for  commercial  and  other  motives, 
are  kept  most  persistently  before  the  pubHc  eye; 
but  even  the  casual  observer  may  easily  perceive 

52 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE   FLN'E  ARTS 

that  It  h  prowing  in  volume.  It  is  easy  to  be  dc- 
cdvctl  in  this  matter.  Just  as  the  type  of  French 
novel  lately  most  prevalent  diK-s  not  represent 
the  large  and  dominant  elements  in  the  national 
life,  but  rather  the  salon,  theatre,  and  Ixjulevard 
atmosphere  of  Paris,  so  the  IkwIcs.  I)lays,  f)icturcs, 
and  operas  that  are  trumpetal  most  noisily  in  the 
market-place  nee<i  not  hastily  l>c  taken  as  indica- 
tive of  the  permanent  trend  of  contemporary'  ideas. 
The  claims  made  for  the  new  fashions  by  their 
advocates  have,  nevertheless,  an  unsettling  influ- 
ence, particularly  u|>on  susceptible  and  inquiring 
minds.  One  who  has  seen  the  rise  and  fall  of 
many  fashions,  each  pr(Klaime<i  as  the  final  truth 
in  art  and  letters;  who  has  watche<I  a  long  proces- 
sion of  painters,  pla\'^vri^hts,  novelists,  and  com- 
posers move  into  the  glare  of  publicity  and  out 
into  oblivion  again;  who  has  often  looke<l  in  vain 
for  the  work  that  was  acclaimed  a  triumph  of 
genius  a  year  or  less  ago;  who  has  outlive<l  many 
illusions,  including  hLs  own  —  such  a  one  may 
retain  his  calmness  unpcrturbeil  by  the  hostile 
clamor  rai.se<l  around  some  of  those  principles 
which  he  believes  are  basetl  upon  the  ex|)erience  of 
mankind.  He  will  not  be  shaken  by  the  anarchism 
of  the  recent  scho^jls  which  would  have  him  l>elievc 
tliat  progress  consists  in  a  repudiation  of  the  mon- 
umental achievements  of  the  past,  .\lthough  in 
the  midst  of  a  shower  of  illusions,  to  employ  Em- 
erson's figure,  the  air  al*ove  him  is  clear,  and  he 
•ees  the  gods  silling  around  him  on  Uieir  thrones. 

53 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

But  the  younger  enthusiast  does  not  easily  see 
the  gods;  he  is  not  acquainted  with  them  and  he 
does  not  know  where  to  find  them;  neither  would 
he  recognize  them  as  immortal  divinities,  since 
only  the  anointed  eye  can  discern  their  attributes. 
Here  is  the  opportunity  of  the  college  for  organizing, 
in  the  midst  of  the  intellectual  confusions  of  the 
day,  habits  of  judgment  that  will  enable  their 
possessors  to  keep  their  minds  calmly  poised  amid 
the  whirl  of  conflicting  appeals.  Through  its  very 
traditions  and  customs  it  is  prepared  for  this  serv- 
ice. All  over  our  land  are  these  centres  of  in- 
fluence, based  upon  scholarship,  constitutionally 
prone  to  insist  upon  what  has  been  accepted  by 
the  moderate  thought  of  its  time,  scientific  in  their 
methods,  not  ready  to  bend  before  the  gusts  of 
fashion,  following  the  dictates  of  caution,  and  not 
greatly  disturbed  by  accusations  of  timidity  and 
reaction.  In  such  a  country  as  ours,  and  admin- 
istered as  they  are  both  from  within  and  without, 
there  is  little  danger  that  they  wiU  be  wholly  irre- 
sponsive to  anything  that  tends  to  real  progress. 
But  they  will  not  accept  a  novelty  just  because  it 
is  new;  their  professors,  by  their  very  training, 
look  sharply  for  an  intellectual  value  in  whatever 
claims  their  interest,  and  in  all  that  appeals  to 
the  senses  and  the  emotion  their  very  instinct 
leads  them  to  compare  it  with  those  productions 
that  have  endured  the  severest  of  all  tests,  the 
test  of  time,  and  welcome  it  only  as  it  discloses 
qualities  that  relate  it  to  the  great  models. 

54 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

Any  apprehension  that  the  tendency  to  excess- 
ive conservatism  —  the  exclusion  of  the  new  for 
the  sake  of  the  preservation  of  the  old  —  will  be 
sufTcrctl  to  prevail,  and  the  college  lose  touch  with 
progressive  movements,  is  disiH-llfd  when  one  con- 
siders certain  currents  which  arc  now  flowing  from 
the  art  world  toward  the  college.  The  time  was, 
not  so  very  long  ago,  when  the  college  glee  and 
mandoUn  club  supplied  the  local  ncetl  for  musical 
indulgence  in  the  majority  of  our  institutions  of 
learning,  but  in  later  days  the  concert  agencies 
have  begun  to  look  toward  the  colleges  as  profit- 
able spheres  of  inllucnce.  A  condition  very  nearly 
parallel  in  the  plastic  arts,  and  still  more  recent, 
appears  in  the  increasing  number  of  itinerant  ex- 
hibitions of  paintings,  etchings,  bronzes,  textiles, 
etc.,  which  are  bringing  the  output  of  the  studios 
to  the  college  doors.  Chiefly  under  the  stimulus 
of  this  new  opportunity,  art  associations  arc  spring- 
ing up  in  the  colleges  and  universities,  designed 
not  only  for  the  benefit  of  the  academic  community 
but  also  for  the  sake  of  a  union  of  the  college  art 
interests  with  those  of  the  city  or  town,  by  this 
co-operation  working  for  a  closer  sympathy  and 
mutual  aid  in  all  that  promotes  a  sense  of  fellow- 
ship in  the  things  of  culture. 

In  the  important  field  of  the  drama  analogous 
agencies  arc  at  work.  The  college  dramatic  asso- 
ciations wisely  conclude  that  their  scr\ice  lies  not 
merely  in  aflording  a  channel  for  the  histrionic 
ambitions  of   their  own   members,   but  also   for 

55 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

bringing  to  the  attention  of  the  student  body  ex- 
amples of  excellence  in  the  work  of  contemporary 
playwrights  as  performed  by  those  companies, 
fortunately  still  existing,  that  make  it  their  pri- 
mary purpose  to  promote  the  higher  interests  of 
their  art.  In  connection  with  such  organizations 
as  the  Drama  League,  in  hospitality  to  professional 
assistance  and  the  encouragement  of  those  beau- 
tiful adjuncts  to  the  drama,  the  folk-dance  and 
the  pageant,  the  college  may  not  only  exert  an 
invigorating  influence  upon  its  own  family  but 
may  also  contribute  mightily  to  the  formation  of 
a  public  appreciation  and  demand  for  the  best 
things  which  is  all  that  the  theatre  needs  at  the 
present  time  to  enable  it  to  take  the  place  that 
naturally  belongs  to  it  as  one  of  the  forces  that 
work  for  the  mental  health  of  the  people. 

The  strongest  factors  that  are  now  active  in 
America  in  the  domain  of  art  are  working  not  so 
much  toward  the  production  of  masterpieces  as 
for  elevation  of  thought  and  brightening  of  life 
among  the  masses.  The  humanitarian  movement 
of  the  day  is  using  art  as  a  means  of  social  benefit. 
Its  aim  is  to  beautify  as  well  as  ameliorate  life. 
The  part  of  the  colleges  in  this  endeavor  will  be 
to  help  it  to  become  intelligent  as  well  as  generous, 
to  hold  it  to  approved  standards,  and  with  their 
wealth,  culture,  and  opportunity,  guided  by  the 
experience  of  the  past,  to  direct  the  present  pur- 
pose along  the  paths  which  lead  to  civic  welfare. 
Back  into  the  ranks  of  the  public,  which  is  to  be 

56 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE   FLN'E  ARTS 

the  patron  of  art  for  good  or  ill,  the  colleges  every 
year  turn  tens  of  thousands  of  alert  young  men  and 
women.  If  any  considerable  pro|)ortion  of  them 
b  inspireti,  by  the  college  teaching  and  example, 
with  right  conceptions  of  the  nature  of  fme  art 
and  its  place  in  the  life  of  a  vigorous  community, 
the  effect  will  ere  long  be  felt  in  a  larger  meas- 
ure of  {popular  enlightenment  than  this  nation,  or 
perhaps  any  nation,  has  exjx!riencc*d  hitherto;  and 
also,  we  may  hoj>e,  in  the  preparation  of  condi- 
tions out  of  which  works  of  art  of  a  unique  and 
nationally  representative  t\*]K*  will  grow. 


It  is  CN-ident  that  the  scr\'ice  of  the  college  to 
education  in  fostering  the  appreciation  of  art  is 
not  fultiUed  when  it  builds  and  endows  an  art 
museum,  theatre,  and  concert  hall,  and  supplies 
its  librar>'  with  critical  books  and  reproductions. 
Examples  and  illustrations  do  not  suffice;  art  must 
be  interprcttnl.  and  the  mind  must  always  undergo 
a  discipline  in  order  to  receive  it.  This  necessity 
implies  lectures,  assigned  readings,  examinations, 
and  cretlits.  At  first  sight  these  mechanical  for- 
malities seem  foreign  to  the  nature  of  art,  for  the 
nearer  one  approaches  to  the  spirit  that  dwells  in 
beautiful  forms,  and  for  which  alone  the  forms 
exist,  the  more  completely  the  external  framework 
and  trappings  fall  away,  and  the  soul  of  the  be- 
holder and  the  idea  of  the  artist  Oow  together  to 

57 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

blend  in  a  mystical  union.  But  can  the  college 
assume  that  this  happy  result  always  follows  when 
its  examples,  even  properly  interpreted,  and  the 
youthful  mind  are  brought  together;  and  even  if 
it  could,  is  the  creation  of  vague  sentiments,  how- 
ever refined,  consistent  with  the  special  purpose 
for  which  the  college  by  common  consent  exists? 
Here  is  the  dilemma  which,  no  doubt,  is  one  of  the 
chief  impediments  to  the  introduction  of  instruc- 
tion in  art  into  the  higher  education.  Every  col- 
lege at  the  present  day  consents  to  the  artistic 
decoration  of  its  grounds  and  buildings,  to  the  in- 
troduction of  pictures  and  statuary,  dramatic  per- 
formances and  music  —  it  is  agreed  that  there 
must  be  a  constant  presence  of  aesthetic  influences, 
because  they  form  the  mind  insensibly,  and  com- 
bine with  everything  in  the  academic  atmosphere 
that  promotes  taste,  dignity,  and  propriety.  But 
to  provide  scholarly  courses  in  art  appreciation  is 
another  matter,  for  classroom  study  impHes  reci- 
tation, examinations,  and  credits,  and  every  one 
who  has  gone  below  the  surface  knows  that  the 
jesthetic  consciousness,  which  is  the  object  and 
goal  of  these  courses,  evades  all  those  tests  upon 
which  the  college  depends  for  stimulating  the 
effort  and  measuring  the  attainment  of  its  students. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  is  not  wilhng  to  forego  the 
use  of  its  traditional  means  of  determination,  for 
to  do  so  would  seem  to  be  to  lose  its  hold  upon 
those  activities  in  the  pupil's  mind  which  are 
working  for  the  formation  of  character.     The  col- 

58 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  FLVE  ARTS 

lege  auihorilics  have  no  illusions  on  this  subject. 
They  know  that  the  finest  result  at  which  the 
courses  in  art  can  aim  consists  in  an  increased 
reverence  for  the  productions  of  genius,  in  a  flower- 
ing of  taste  and  sensibility,  and  a  jxjwer  of  accurate 
judgment  in  regard  to  the  comparative  merits  of 
works  of  art.  Hut  how  shall  the  instructor  know 
if  these  qualities  have  been  acquired  as  the  result 
of  his  teaching;  and  if  he  cannot  know,  with  what 
confidence  shall  he  hand  in  to  the  registrar  marks 
which  are  to  be  averaged  up  with  those  of  the 
science  and  language  teachers  in  the  determination 
of  the  student's  standing  and  perhaps  his  fate? 

In  the  first  place  it  may  be  said  that  the  art 
courses  are  not  wholly  exceptional  in  the  presen- 
tation of  this  dilTiculty.  The  finest  issues  of  any 
college  course  cannot  be  mechanically  gauged,  for 
who  shall  weigh  in  a  registrar's  balance  the  zeal 
for  things  of  the  mind,  the  eager  curiosity,  the 
joyous  consciousness  of  growth,  the  recognition  of 
final  values,  which  always  come  with  conscientious 
study,  and  without  which  any  college  course  is 
barren?  Above  all,  who  shall  estimate  the  in- 
spirations that  arc  kindle<l  under  the  personal  in- 
fluence of  a  strong-brainctl  and  large-hcarteil  teacher 
—  the  love  of  truth  for  truth's  sake,  the  desire  for 
wisdom,  and  the  willingness  to  undergo  toil  and 
privation  in  wisdom's  cause,  which  such  a  teacher 
may  impart?  In  such  a  presence  the  finest  gain 
comes  incidentally  and  by  the  way,  kindling  a 
high-souled  enthusiasm  which  makes  life  a  better 

59 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

and  sweeter  thing  forever  after.  In  very  truth  it 
is  only  the  more  formal  and  superficial  results 
that  are  appraised  by  the  professor's  pencil;  the 
lasting  issue  in  terms  of  character  he  cannot  know. 
"Truly  speaking,"  says  Emerson,  "it  is  not  in- 
struction, but  provocation,  that  I  can  receive 
from  another  soul."  Happy  would  the  college  be 
if  it  could  make  these  provocations  so  apparent 
and  winsome  that  the  most  careless  would  desire 
them.  Could  it  do  so,  it  would  often  find  them 
proceeding  from  the  laboratory  as  well  as  from 
the  chapel. 

These  subtle  consequences,  which  at  the  same 
time  are  of  such  far-reaching  benefit  that  they 
must  be  reckoned  with,  are  especially  involved  in 
the  courses  in  literature  and  art  and  constitute 
a  very  large  factor  in  the  problem  which  these 
courses  present.  The  college  must  acquiesce  and 
be  willing  to  take  these  hidden  values  for  granted, 
unless  it  contends  that  the  admission  of  these 
subjects  into  the  curriculum  shall  be  conditioned 
upon  laying  chief  emphasis  upon  memory  drill  and 
analysis  of  technicalities  and  accessories.  The 
accessories  and  technical  details  can  be  taught 
and  "mental  discipline"  be  derived  therefrom, 
but  this  is  not  teaching  art.  If  the  reality  of  art 
is  to  be  imparted  and  a  response  to  its  varied 
beauty  awakened,  the  college  must  heed  the  ap- 
peal made  some  time  ago  by  Professor  W.  P.  Trent 
in  behalf  of  a  more  genuine  teaching  of  literature. 
"I  have  begun,"  he  said,  "to  doubt  the  value  of 

60 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE   FLNE  ARTS 

strenuous  examinations,  and  to  appreciate  more 
and  more  the  necessity  of  trying  to  inculcate  in 
my  students  some  of  the  high  moral  and  si>irilua! 
truths  taught  by  great  writers,  and  to  impart  to 
them  a  taste  for  reading,  a  love  for  tlic  best  litera- 
ture. I  Ik-Hcvc  that  the  time  devoted  to  spiritual 
inculcation  and  to  a'sthetic  training  is  of  far  more 
importance  than  that  devoteti  to  instruction  in 
the  facts  of  literature,  and  I  draw  hence  the  con- 
clusion that  we  teachers  of  literature  ought  bravely 
to  say  to  our  fellow  teachers  somctliing  Uke  this: 
'We  can,  if  we  please,  make  our  examinations  as 
rigid  as  you  tlo  yours,  but  we  do  not  believe  that 
our  facts  are  as  im|K)rtant  as  yours,  or,  at  any  rate, 
can  be  acquiretl  with  so  much  advantage  to  our 
pupils.  We  believe  that  the  subject  we  teach  and 
the  subjects  you  teach  are  necessary  to  a  catholic 
education,  but  that,  while  we  arc  contributing  to 
the  same  end  as  you,  our  means  must  be  dillerent 
from  yours.*  " 

The  acceptance  of  this  conclusion  does  not, 
however,  preclude  a  large  amount  of  detailed  and 
formal  instruction,  which  has  a  part  to  play  in 
the  preparation  of  those  states  of  mind  which  are 
the  antecwlent  condition  of  appreciation  of  liter- 
ature anil  art.  Like  every  prtxluct  of  human  im- 
pcrfectit)n.  art  has  its  goo<l  and  its  evil,  its  strength 
and  weakness,  its  truth  and  falsehood.  These  dis- 
tinctions are  not  intuitively  |)crceived  by  youthful 
minds.  To  grasp  the  reality  of  art  something 
more  is  needed  than  the  mere  presence  of  the  ob- 

6i 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

ject.  The  beauty  of  art  is  not  an  abstract  but  a 
relative  beauty.  The  mental  attitude  changes  in 
going  from  one  object  to  another;  the  same  cri- 
terion does  not  apply  to  all.  The  mind  must  be 
active,  not  passive  —  at  least  until  the  essence  of 
the  thing  is  comprehended.  The  understanding 
must  awake  as  well  as  the  emotion.  The  novice 
will  probably  ask  why  this  or  that  example  is  se- 
lected as  a  model,  and  he  must  be  made  to  see. 
Only  by  the  recognition  of  principles  and  standards 
and  the  employment  of  comparisons  can  any  work 
of  art  be  known  and  felt  for  what  it  is.  The  very 
essence  of  art  in  its  relationship  to  nature  and 
human  life  is  misconceived  by  the  majority  of 
people  who  have  not  been  instructed.  The  art 
gallery  without  expounders  is  of  little  practical 
utility;  a  concert  course  without  commentary  may 
afford  healthful  recreation  and  an  uplift  for  the 
moment,  but  many  of  its  educational  possibilities 
will  be  missed.  The  explanation  of  this  fact  is 
found  in  the  doctrine  of  relativity,  which,  as  John 
Tyndall  expressed  it,  "affirms  that  the  impression 
made  upon  us  by  any  circumstance,  or  combina- 
tion of  circumstances,  depends  upon  our  previous 
state.  Two  travellers  upon  the  same  peak,  the  one 
having  ascended  to  it  from  the  plain,  the  other 
having  descended  to  it  from  a  higher  elevation,  will 
be  differently  affected  by  the  scene  around  them. 
To  the  one,  nature  is  expanding,  to  the  other  it 
is  contracting,  and  the  feelings  are  sure  to  differ 
which  have  two  such  different  antecedent  states." 

62 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE   FL\E  ARTS 

"Wc  accqjt,"  says  Bourgct,  "only  the  doctrines 
whose  principles  we  already  carry  in  ourselves"; 
and  it  may  l>c  added  that  we  accept  only  those 
works  of  art  that  find  aft'dialion  with  certain  pro- 
pensities that  have  attained  consciousness  through 
exercise.  To  arouse  these  faculties,  to  prepare  the 
preliminary  state  of  mind,  is  the  ofl'ice  of  the  in- 
structor, and  he  must  work  partly  by  analysis  and 
demonstration,  partly  by  suggestion  and  indirec- 
tion. It  is  a  common  error  to  supix)sc  that  appre- 
ciation of  art  de|>ends  simply  ujwn  the  immediate 
action  of  gixxi  examples,  that  criticism  and  com- 
mentary are  impertinent  intruders  that  should  be 
shoved  aside  and  art  be  left  free  to  prepare  her  way 
before  her.  Art  that  has  a  vital  energy*  within  her 
will  doubtless  prepare  her  own  way  at  last,  but  with 
what  sad  loss  of  time,  with  what  waste  of  that  pre- 
cious effort  which  might  be  creating  new  beauties 
while  struggling  to  overcome  the  dull  obstruction  of 
the  world !  Art  comes  before  us  and  says:  "Here 
I  am;  I  offer  myself  to  you;  you  may  take  me  or 
leave  me."  Criticism  says:  "Y'ou  must  not  leave 
her,  for  without  you  she  cannot  thrive.  I  will 
show  you  how  to  t:ikc  her  in  the  only  way  possible, 
which  is  by  moulding  your  spirit  into  conformity 
with  her  spirit." 

This  moulding  process  is  the  ofTice  of  the  college 
instructor.  His  first  business  is  to  excite  belief 
and  expectation.  What  the  eye  is  prepared  to  sec 
it  will  see;  what  the  ear  expects  to  hear  it  will  hear. 
The  ^irit  of  art  is  not  separable  from  the  form, 

63 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

and  constant  misjudgments  will  occur  before  the 
laws  of  form  are  known.  Hence  arises  the  need  of 
the  explanation  of  technicaHties.  Only  the  igno- 
rant disregard  them,  for  they  are  art's  language, 
untranslatable;  the  features  by  whose  interplay 
the  spirit  comes  to  light;  the  element  of  sense 
which  cannot  be  divorced  from  expression,  because 
art  is  both  a  duality  and  a  unity.  *'Soul  is  form 
and  doth  the  body  make."  Such  knowledge  has 
its  place  in  the  formation  of  right  judgment  in  re- 
spect to  comparative  artistic  merits.  Everything 
that  is  wrong  in  art  —  wrong,  that  is,  in  being  in 
any  way  untrue  —  does  a  certain  amount  of  harm 
by  standing  in  the  way  of  an  appreciation  of  what 
is  true  and  right.  This  applies  to  reproductive  as 
well  as  creative  art:  piano-playing,  singing,  acting, 
any  activity  in  which  natural  movements  are  regu- 
lated to  produce  results  that  are  not  natural,  can- 
not be  fully  enjoyed  by  one  who  is  not  informed 
concerning  the  principles  by  which  the  special  art 
"adds  to  nature."  The  real  end  of  art  is  not  com- 
prehended except  as  there  is  a  specific  knowledge 
of  the  means  employed  to  effect  it  —  a  knowledge 
by  which  the  observer  divines  the  creator's  pur- 
pose that  guided  him  in  the  path  he  traversed  to 
his  goal.  Furthermore,  a  work  of  art  cannot  be 
divorced  from  its  setting  without  divesting  it  of 
much  of  its  significance  —  a  setting  historical,  so- 
cial, personal  on  the  artist's  side;  associational, 
experiential,  and  reactive  on  the  receiver's.  The 
impression  made  by  a  work  of  art  is  not  simple  but 

64 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE   FLNE  ARTS 

complex,  because  complex  are  the  antecedent  states 
of  consciousness  that  entail  the  appropriate  reac- 
tions in  thf  receiver's  mind.  Hence  comes  the  cx- 
t.rii>o  of  observation,  memory,  co-ordination,  com- 
parison, the  application  of  ideas  drawn  from  the 
life  without  and  the  life  within.  The  a-slhclic  in- 
tuitions require  not  Si)  much  an  awakening  as  the 
power  of  adjustment  and  adaptation;  they  spring 
into  action  at  the  touch  of  cverj'  beautiful  thing, 
but  they  enrich  the  cxiKricncc  and  coml)ine  into 
accurate  judgments  only  when  they  shape  them- 
selves into  harmony  with  all  the  elements  that 
make  up  tlie  life  of  the  work  of  art 

XT 

\Mien  mention  is  made  of  the  appreciation  of 
art,  one  may  properly  ask  what  form  or  phase  of 
art  is  meant.  We  shouKi  more  accurately  speak 
of  appreciations,  for  in  the  house  of  art  are  many 
mansions,  each  offering  its  own  si>ccial  kind  of 
entertainment  to  its  guest.  There  arc  schools  and 
styles  so  diverse  that  in  the  judgment  of  one  we 
must  often  lay  aside  certain  predispositions  nour- 
ished by  another.  Gothic  sculpture  involves  con- 
siderations of  ideal  and  style  other  than  those  of 
H<ll<nic;  one  may  admire  Donatcllo  and  cavil  at 
K"«lin.  The  condemnation  of  the  impressionist 
painters  was  pronounced  in  the  name  of  French 
classic  art.  The  attempt  to  crush  Richard  Wagner 
was  inspired  by  a  supi>osed  devotion  to  the  older 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

masters  whom  he  also  revered.  Those  who  would 
escape  similar  errors  must  learn  how  to  shift  the 
point  of  view  to  meet  the  artist's  aim.  The  laws  of 
creation  and  of  reception  cannot  be  standardized  by 
the  authority  of  a  form  that  is  suited  to  one  place 
or  time,  but  they  are  now  and  then  re-enacted  to 
meet  the  needs  of  the  human  spirit  as  it  accom- 
modates itself  to  changing  epoch  and  experience. 
Within  the  same  period,  also,  difTerent  phases  of  art 
appeal  to  diverse  standards  of  appreciation.  The 
main  endeavor  in  portraiture  is  the  expression  of 
character;  in  still  life  it  is  decorative  charm. 
The  easel  picture  and  the  mural  fresco  must  not 
be  measured  by  a  common  criterion  of  style.  We 
do  not  demand  of  Ibsen  the  phraseology  and  con- 
struction of  Shakespeare,  and  Maeterlinck's  themes 
require  still  another  technique.  Music  is  vocal 
or  instrumental;  epic,  dramatic,  or  lyric;  religious 
or  secular.  (How  many  gross  perversions  have 
been  heard  in  the  churches,  caused  by  inability  to 
discriminate  between  the  proper  ideal  of  ecclesi- 
astical music  and  that  of  other  forms !)  Music 
may  strive  to  depict  external  activities,  or  sym- 
bolize unbodied  emotions,  or  is  content  with  a 
mere  decorative  play  of  tones.  It  may  be  homo- 
phonic  or  contrapuntal;  it  takes  a  special  char- 
acter from  the  mechanism  by  which  it  is  produced, 
so  that,  for  instance,  organ  music  requires  one 
sort  of  mental  adjustment,  piano  music  another. 
Music  is  colored  by  nationality,  period,  and  school; 
afifected  by  the  nature  of  its  patronage,  by  the 

66 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE   [  L\E  ARTS 

place  antl  occxslon  of  its  performance,  by  the  in- 
terest —  lilurf^ical.  patriotic,  or  what-not  —  which 
emplo)'s  it;  intlucnccd  by  all  the  intellectual  nectls 
which  moke  use  of  an  agent  so  subtly  powerful  for 
stimulus  and  su^estion. 

All  these  dilTcrcntiations  which  art  in  its  pro- 
tean flexibility  affords  involve  principles  which 
may  be  analyzed  and  taught.  There  arc  processes 
of  comparison  to  be  employed,  a  training  of  the 
will  to  hear  or  see  as  the  artist  dcsirctl  to  be  heard 
or  seen.  How  can  these  essentials  to  right  under- 
standing be  known  by  young  art-lovers  except  by 
the  help  of  an  older  head  who  has  sought  them  out, 
systematized  them,  ami  made  tliem  constant  fac- 
tors in  his  own  life  of  culture,  and  who  prt»sents 
them  not  only  as  generalizations  but  as  embodied 
in  concrete  examples?  In  this  study  is  found  the 
safeguard  against  that  unreasoning  indulgence  in 
the  excitements  of  sense  and  emotion  which  the 
arts,  especially  music  and  the  drama,  arc  prone  to 
encourage  in  the  minds  of  those  who  are  not 
schooled  to  reflection.  In  order  to  realize  the  full 
purpose  of  works  of  art,  we  should  put  our  mental 
action  into  correspondence  with  that  of  the  artist, 
whose  priKctlure  is  deliberate,  self-critical,  directed 
by  knowledge  laboriously  acquirtxl.  carefully  ar- 
rangetl  in  all  its  parts  to  gratify  the  intelligence 
which  vic-ws  the  parts  in  their  relation  to  a  logical 
organized  whole. 

These  intellectual  processes,  however,  must  not 
be  made  an  end  in  themselves.     Art  is  indeed  a 

67 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

problem,  but  art  that  is  nothing  but  a  problem  is 
lifeless.  As  in  the  presence  of  a  beloved  friend  all 
details  of  garb  and  inventory  of  feature  are  for- 
gotten, so  in  the  painting,  the  poem,  the  music  the 
value  rests  in  a  communication  of  feeling  which, 
in  the  last  resort,  is  simply  the  love  of  the  artist 
for  his  theme.  And  thus  every  explanation  of 
form  and  contrivance,  every  historic  or  biograph- 
ical reinforcement  which  the  lecturer  brings  to  his 
class,  must  help  to  attune  the  sensibiUty  of  the  pu- 
pil to  the  spirit  of  the  work.  The  worth  of  art  is 
in  the  enhancement  of  our  own  life  consciousness. 
It  is  life  we  desire  from  the  statue,  the  ballad,  the 
rhapsody,  and  not  information  about  the  mecha- 
nism of  life.  The  test  of  art  is  expression,  the  gain 
of  the  receiver  is  a  spiritual  gain  which  can  be 
reproduced,  if  reproduced  at  all,  only  in  terms  of 
the  art  in  question,  or  in  some  verbal  paraphrase, 
or  in  some  gesture  or  kindling  of  the  eye,  the  im- 
pulsive outward  sign  of  inward  joy.  Dissection, 
comparison,  technical  exposition  —  these  have  their 
uses,  but  only  as  they  clear  away  obstructions  that 
lie  between  us  and  the  heart  of  the  mystery.  The 
insight  and  enthusiasm  of  the  interpreter,  his  elo- 
quence, if  such  be  his  fortunate  endowment,  are 
all  needed  in  order  that  his  hearers  may  be  excited 
to  a  suitable  expectation;  but  the  final  event  is 
pleasure  in  the  thing  itself  because  it  is  alive  and 
beautiful. 

Far  too  inclined  are  college  teachers  of  art  to 
fail  of  the  end  through  over-emphasis  upon  the 

68 


THE  COLLEGE  .\ND  THE   FINE  ARTS 

means.  Because  form  and  technique  involve  a  sci- 
entific clement  and  an  intclkxlual  process  they 
often  seem  to  believe  that  their  businc*ss  terminates 
with  those  features  that  can  be  analyzetl  and  made 
the  subject  of  memory  tests.  There  is  also  a  pres- 
sure more  or  less  perceptible  from  the  other  college 
departments,  tending  to  bring  results  that  arc 
vague  and  undemonstrable  into  disrepute.  Fur- 
thermore, the  lecturer  him-self,  if  he  \)c  a  "practical '' 
artist,  often  finds  his  own  interest  taken  up  with 
those  processes  which  most  nearly  resemble  the 
more  routine  features  of  his  own  sjx'cial  labor. 
In  more  than  one  inslilutjon  for  higher  education 
music,  for  example,  received  its  first  welcome  only 
in  the  guise  of  hannony  and  countcqxjint  —  the 
purely  theoretical  side  of  the  art  —  since  these 
studies  were  more  easily  used  as  disciplinary  (ac- 
cording to  the  collej^e  conception  of  that  term), 
like  mathematics  and  lalwratory  ex])criments.  It 
is  a  great  comfort  to  the  average  college  teacher  to 
be  able  to  say  that  an  answer  is  either  right  or 
wrong,  without  any  lx)lher  over  tlie  f>crsonal  equa- 
tion. Courses  in  art  history,  even,  have  not  escaped 
the  besetting  sin  of  formalism,  for  when  taught 
without  imagination  they  ea-sily  relapse  into  an 
examination  of  lists  and  dates  and  various  mechan- 
ical accessories,  instead  of  bending  their  thought 
upon  the  search  for  that  quality  in  the  soul  of  art 
which  gives  to  it  its  essential,  vilali/.ing  power. 
All  the  settings  and  appliances  —  form,  composi- 
tion, technical  device,  historical  conditions  of  race, 

69 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

epoch,  and  milieu  —  are  necessary  for  the  proper 
adjustment  of  the  mind  in  order  that  it  may  re- 
ceive the  full  lesson  which  art  provides  as  an  ex- 
positor of  human  life.  All  these,  however,  may 
be  coolly  learned  by  rote  without  effecting  any  real 
appreciation  of  art  whatever.  They  are  prepara- 
tory, not  final.  Archeology  is  not  art,  and  masses 
of  information  may  be  gathered  without  causing 
a  single  genuine  heart-throb.  The  rational  proce- 
dure, if  art  is  to  enjoy  her  rights  in  the  culture  of 
youth,  is  to  take  her  frankly  for  what  she  is  —  a 
beautiful  witness  to  the  life  of  feeling,  her  appeal 
an  aesthetic  appeal,  her  welcome  intuitive,  the  re- 
ception given  by  her  devotees  not  a  prosaic  inven- 
tory of  her  furnishings  or  a  prying  inquisition  into 
her  heredity,  but  a  glad  surrender  to  her  charm. 
Understanding  and  intuition,  reflection  and  emo- 
tion, criticism  and  spontaneous  acceptance  must  be 
trained  to  act  each  according  to  its  own  laws  and 
then  to  blend  in  a  unity  spontaneous  and  complete. 
Here  is  a  discipHne  that  embraces  many  special 
disciplines,  and  not  slight  are  the  pedagogical  wis- 
dom and  skill  that  are  capable  of  imparting  it. 

XII 

Thus  we  are  led  to  the  simple  conclusion  that, 
granted  the  responsibility  of  the  college  in  paying 
the  honor  to  the  fine  arts  to  which  their  function 
in  the  history  of  civilization  entitles  them,  in  using 
them  as  a  means  of  refining  and  liberalizing  the 

70 


THE  COLLKCJi:  AND  THE  FINE  ARTS 

minds  of  Its  students,  ami  in  exerting  through  them 
an  influence  that  will  enlighten  the  community  and 
help  to  erect  barriers  against  the  swelling  tide  of 
\'ulgarity  and  debasement  —  in  thus  fultilling  its 
plain  obligation  the  college  will  not  Ix*  comjx-llcd 
to  sacrifice  any  |>rinciple  or  depart  radically  from 
approved  scholastic  metho<ls.  There  is  an  analogy 
here  —  in  all  reverence  be  it  said  —  Ix'twecn  teach- 
ing art  and  teaching  religion.  In  the  strict  inter- 
pretation neither  can  Ix?  taught,  if  we  use  the  term 
in  the  same  sense  as  when  we  say  that  science  can 
be  taught.  For  the  prime  purpose  of  instruction 
in  religion  and  art  is  not  to  impart  information,  or 
strictly  to  promote  a  certain  line  of  action,  but  to 
create  a  state  of  mind.  In  both  cases  there  is  in- 
volved a  perception  of  truth  -  but  this  truth  is 
not  one  obtaincil  by  e.X|x*rinicntation  or  observation 
upon  objective  phenomena,  but  a  truth  intuitively 
discerned,  a  truth  recognize<i  and  appropriated  Ix- 
causc  it  answers  a  cra\-ing  of  the  deejxst  instincts 
and  most  cherished  aspirations.  And  the  finest 
result  of  the  teaching  lies  in  the  development  of 
these  instincts  and  aspirations.  While  in  these 
respects  aesthetic  and  religious  culture  may  be  said 
to  differ  from  sdentific.  yet  the  disdpline  of  the 
former  is  aide<l.  even  necessitated.  l)y  the  applica- 
tion of  prcxi'dures  akin  to  those  of  science,  by  which 
the  forms  in  which  religion  and  art  have  manifested 
them.selves,  the  exjxrience  of  those  who  have  con- 
formetl  their  lives  to  them,  the  means  by  which 
error  is  sifted  from  truth,  and  the  confusions  and 

71 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

opacities  which  hinder  clear  vision  swept  away  — 
all  may  be  made  the  subject  of  study  whose  out- 
come is  the  preparation  of  a  mental  receptiveness 
without  which  the  spiritual  influence  has  no  chan- 
nel by  which  it  may  enter  the  soul. 

It  is  indeed  a  discipHne,  like  any  other,  and  there 
are  few  tasks  given  to  a  college  instructor  where 
so  much  freedom  and  initiative  are  allowed  as  in 
the  work  of  the  lecturer  on  art,  since  he  is  so  Ht- 
tle  supported  by  precedent  or  restricted  by  con- 
ventional routine.  High  must  be  his  enthusiasm, 
affluent  his  knowledge,  ripe  his  experience,  and  per- 
suasive his  tongue,  who  would  draw  into  the  feUow- 
ship  of  art  a  body  of  tyros  ignorant  of  the  values 
of  art,  and  so  often  in  their  ignorance  contemp- 
tuous of  those  delicate  susceptibiUtics  to  which 
aesthetic  influences  appeal.  In  all  our  higher  insti- 
tutions of  learning  there  is  a  prejudice  to  be  over- 
come, not  only  among  the  undergraduates  but  also 
among  the  faculty,  and  hence  the  promoter  of 
aesthetic  culture  meets  a  resistance  at  the  outset 
which  none  of  his  colleagues  is  compelled  to  face. 
His  safeguard  lies  in  bringing  prominently  forward 
those  intellectual  elements  which  are  the  prelimina- 
ries and  conditions  of  artistic  production  and  right 
appreciation.  By  an  abundance  of  comparisons 
he  may  show  the  correspondence  that  exists  be- 
tween art  and  other  fields  of  human  acti\ity;  he 
may  prove  by  many  evidences  the  vital  relation  of 
art  to  the  larger  Ufe  which  envelops  and  fertilizes 
it;  and  so,  by  wise  applications  and  the  contagion 

72 


THE  COLLEGE  AND  THE  FL\E  ARTS 

of  his  own  conviction,  persuade  the  institution 
which  he  serves  that  beauty  dwells  in  partnership 
with  kn<>wlnli:;i',  ami  that  ihr  lovr  she  inspires, 
when  it  is  once  j;;uncd  by  the  double  exercise  of  re- 
search and  spontaneous  feeling,  is  no  superficial  or 
selfish  indulgence,  but  combines  by  natural  affinity 
with  cvcr\'  agency  of  good. 

XIII 

The  signs  multiply  that  the  colleges  are  at  last 
iK'cominK  hirdful  of  the  call.  They  have  reached 
the  encoura^inj;  jxjint  when  they  begin  to  consider 
not  merely  the  constant  presence  of  art  in  museums, 
halls,  and  theatres,  but  the  organizetl  use  of  them 
by  methods  of  refined  scholarship.  The  nature  of 
these  methods  must  be  determined  by  the  peculiar 
'  )gical  problems  involvctl  in  a  subject  in 
ifi  awakening  process  is  the  first  movement 
of  attack.  When  everything  is  said,  the  method. 
after  all,  is  the  man.  According  to  the  mental 
situation  of  his  pupils,  as  well  as  to  the  means  af- 
forded him.  will  the  instructor  act.  He  must  com- 
bine the  gifts  of  the  preacher  and  the  man  of  sci- 
ence —  the  insight,  fervor,  and  consecration  of  the 
preacher,  the  clear-cut,  rational  treatment  of  facts 
which  marks  the  savant.  A  lecturer  on  art.  a 
French  writer  has  said,  should  be  an  artist,  a  his- 
torian, a  philosopher,  and  a  ix>et.  But.  alas  !  where 
are  such  paragons  to  Ix?  found?  The  colleges 
themselves  must  train  them.     The  supreme  dilii- 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

culty  that  will  always  confront  the  college  will  not 
be  to  determine  the  place  of  art  instruction,  or 
even  the  method,  but  to  find  the  man. 

When  the  man  is  found  he  will  be  presented 
with  an  opportunity  not  easily  circumscribed.  He 
will  have  the  responsibility,  and  at  the  same  time 
the  privilege,  of  showing  that  art  commends  itself 
not  only  in  its  works,  but  also  in  the  lives  of  those 
who  teach  and  practise  it.  Art  and  aesthetic  cul- 
ture are  still  on  the  defensive  in  this  country. 
They  still  need  the  belief  and  the  example  of  strong 
men  and  women.  The  college  youth  will  not  re- 
frain from  applying  the  argumentum  ad  hominem. 
His  intellectual  leaders  must  convince  him  by  some- 
thing besides  precept  of  the  worth  of  what  they 
teach.  So  is  it  especially  in  regard  to  art  and 
beauty;  a  sentimental  trifler  will  have  difficulty 
in  imparting  faith  in  these  to  healthfully  sceptical 
minds.  Not  less  important  than  art  galleries  and 
concert  courses  is  the  presence  of  men  in  the  chairs 
of  literature  and  art  who  offer  in  themselves  worthy 
models  in  manners,  in  conversation,  in  character, 
as  well  as  in  cordial  sympathy  with  the  manifold 
interests  of  life.  ''Let  me  see,"  the  student  will 
ask,  "what  a  life  devoted  to  art  and  beauty  has 
done  for  you." 

The  limit  of  this  field  of  action  also  will  not  easily 
be  defined,  for  while  the  professional  work  of  the 
average  instructor  is  bounded  by  his  classroom, 
that  of  the  teacher  of  art  is  in  the  nature  of  the 
case    coextensive   with    the   entire    college   circle. 

74 


lilt  COLLllGE  AND  THE  IINE  ARTS 

For  beauty  of  environment,  and  the  re-creation  of 
spirit  that  comes  from  wholesome  emotion;il  stim- 
ulus, constitute  a  general  interest,  and  they  also 
furnish  a  unifying  principle  among  the  divergencies 
of  college  life.  Tastefully  contrive<l  lawns,  groves, 
and  ganlens,  noble  decoration  in  architecture  and 
sculpture,  art  collections,  concerts,  dramas,  and 
festivals  -  all  these  act  mightily,  not  only  by 
wcaNing  a  glamour  of  joy  and  exhilaration  around 
scholxslic  lalxjr.  but  also  for  co-operation,  inspira- 
tion, and  fellowship.  Over  these  ministries  the 
care  of  the  art  instructor  is  extended,  and  all  his 
classroom  work  is  deepened  by  his  consciousness 
of  his  more  public  service.  He  advances  the  ends 
of  scholarship  by  his  research  and  his  systematized 
teaching,  while  at  the  same  time  he  employs  his 
knowledge,  his  taste,  and  his  enthusiasm  as  advo- 
cates of  a  common  cause. 


75 


PART  II 
MUSIC  IN  THE   COLLEGE 


The  presence  of  art  in  the  college,  in  acknowl- 
edged companionship  with  the  sciences  and  phi- 
losophies, is  no  longer  a  doubtful  question.  Al- 
though the  American  institutions  for  the  higher 
education  for  a  long  time  renounced  the  privilege 
within  their  grasp,  by  which  they  might  have  been 
pioneers  in  that  development  which  was  destined 
to  become  a  leading  factor  in  a  country  peopled  by 
the  offspring  of  nations  whose  glory  is  in  their 
literature  and  art,  this  neglect  must  sooner  or  later 
give  way  to  cordial  acceptance.  Placed  in  the 
centre  of  the  intellectual  activities  of  the  age,  they 
would  inevitably  be  swept  by  the  overflow  of  the 
rising  tide  of  art  development.  For  the  need  of 
beauty  is  becoming  evident  to  an  ever-increasing 
multitude.  It  is  an  inseparable  element  in  the 
movements  for  social  uplift  and  the  amelioration 
of  life's  hard  conditions.  The  most  encouraging 
sign  of  the  healthful  growth  of  this  desire  is  not  in 
the  collections  of  works  of  art  which  every  million- 
aire considers  necessary  to  his  dignity,  nor  in  the 

76 


MUSIC   IN  THE  COLLEGK 

Immcn'^'  improvi'mcnt  in  taste  in  thr  ;ui(»rnmrnt 
of  public  and  private  establishments.  It  is  not 
even  in  the  endowment  of  art  museums,  or  in  pri- 
vate '  'lion  to  the  supi>ort  of  oi>era-houses 
and  "  ^^,  for  such  institutions  may  flourish 

and  still  minister  only  to  the  gratification  of  a 
limitetl  class.  The  real  significance  of  the  aesthetic 
revival  in  this  country  lies  in  its  dilTusion  outside 
the  aristocracies  of  wealth,  in  the  discovery  among 
the  masses  of  the  jK'ople  that  there  is  no  cxclusive- 
ncas  in  IxMuty,  that  without  it  even  industry  is 
hamperetl  and  material  prosperity  unsatisfying. 
C  ntly,  the  e.xtraordinary  sj>ce<I  of  develoj)- 

i;  i:;  the  lines  of  xsthetic  demand  and  artistic 

supply  is  largely  due  to  that  co-operation  in  effort 
for  which  the  American  j)eople  have  shown  a  posi- 
tive genius.  Multituiles  of  private  organizations, 
such  as  the  women's  clubs,  have  given  the  move- 
ment an  almost  fierce  imix«tus,  and  in  recent  days 
munici{xil  action  in  the  decoration  with  ix'auliiul 
painting  and  sculpture  of  the  buildings  that  be- 
long to  the  people,  in  the  contrivance  of  Indefx^nd- 
cnce  Day  and  Christmas  celebrations,  historical 
pageants  which  stimulate  the  imagination  as  well 
as  give  pleasure  to  the  senses,  and  cautious  cxjx-ri- 
ments  in  the  support  of  dvic  theatres,  bands,  and 
chorxises  —  all  this  is  revealing  to  the  people  that 
there  are  noble  forms  of  art  that  do  not  demand  a 
spedal  education  attainable  only  by  a  privileged 
few,  but  are  accessible  to  all  by  the  very  fact  that 
all  are  citizens  of  equal  rank  in  a  commonwealth 

77 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

that  recognizes  no  restriction  of  opportunity  in  the 
pursuit  of  physical,  mental,  and  moral  health.  It 
is  this  social  aspect  of  the  American  art  movement 
which  is  its  chief  justification  and  the  guarantee  of 
an  enduring  future. 

All  this  being  apparent  to  the  most  cursory  ob- 
servation, it  follows  that  the  schools  and  colleges 
must  assume  a  directing  part  in  this  process  of 
popular  education,  for  the  colleges  as  well  as  the 
schools  stand  upon  the  principle  that  in  learning 
and  culture  there  is  no  exclusive  aristocracy.  The 
college  exists  for  the  people,  not  the  people  for  the 
college.  Every  college  course  is  contrived  and  ad- 
ministered with  a  view  to  some  social  need,  and 
will  be  moulded  by  conditions  that  are  imperative 
because  they  are  implicit  in  the  national  evolution. 

Assuming  that  the  time  has  come  when  the 
higher  institutions  of  learning  will  strive  to  pro- 
mote the  culture  and  appreciation  of  art  according 
to  their  opportunity,  the  discussion  will  hereafter 
turn  mainly  upon  the  question,  what  shall  be  the 
position  which  art  shall  occupy  in  the  curriculum  ? 
Shall  it  be  treated  as  a  cultural  or  as  a  vocational 
study,  or  both?  In  what  proportions  shall  theory 
and  practice  divide  the  territory  between  them? 
Where  does  the  one  end  and  the  other  begin? 
Whatever  may  be  the  attitude  toward  "practical" 
courses,  such  as  drawing,  modelling,  and  musical 
performance,  there  is  on  all  sides  rapid  progress 
toward  the  adoption  of  instruction  in  the  history 
and  criticism  of  art  as  being  in  every  respect  in 

78 


Ml'SIC  IN  Tin:  COLLEGE 

accord  with  the  ditjnity  aui!  of  the  college. 

It  is  iiHuinlK-nt  ujmm)  ihf  coi  iic  home  of  the 

humanities  to'cjci>ound  and  interpret  art,  to  medi- 
ate Ix'twet-n  the  artist  and  the  student,  to  demon- 
strate the  j)l;ue  that  aesthetic  culture  holds  in  the 
life  of  reason.  As  "outside  interests"  the  concert 
courses,  the  art  exhibitions,  the  dramatic  |XTform- 
ances,  have  lon^  lx*en  encouraged  in  many  institu- 
tions. But  the  lime  is  at  hand  when  they  must 
be  taken  more  seriously  than  this,  and  systematic 
measures  l>o  empioyeti  to  bring  them  into  an  or- 
ganic relation  with  the  established  college  s>'stem. 
They  must  InTome  an  insitie  interest  not  an 
incidental  show  under  irresix)nsible  managers,  but 
regulated  by  the  college  authorities,  and  through  a 
vital  connection  Ix-twi-en  them  and  the  classroom 
the  pleasure  that  they  give  Ik*  made  a  means  of 
real  culture  by  the  demonstration  of  its  relation- 
ship to  the  intellectual  life. 

n 

This  being  the  case  with  the  general  subject  of 
historic  art  as  a  factor  in  education,  how  does  it 
stand  with  the  art  of  music?  Is  music  any  less 
serviceable  than  inx-try  or  |xiinting  in  the  nurture 
of  the  intellect  and  the  emotion?  Admitting  the 
right  of  th(        "         •  '  '  le 

results   in   >  ig 

vague  and  sentimental,  everything  that  would 
tend  to  encourage  mental  indolence  and  looseness 

79 


MUSIC  AND   THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

of  thought  —  granting  this,  can  music  maintain  a 
claim  to  admission  on  equal  terms  with  those 
studies  which  obviously  involve  intellectual  and 
moral  discipline? 

Up  to  a  certain  point  music  has  always  been 
welcomed  as  a  precious  influence  in  college  life, 
for  if  there  is  one  means  of  emotional  expression 
that  is  more  universal  and  instinctive  than  any 
other,  it  is  song.  Wherever  in  college  life  there  is 
the  enthusiasm  of  fellowship  and  loyalty,  this  high 
spirit  overflows  in  melody.  The  student  song  is 
a  branch  of  the  folk-song,  spontaneous  and  inevita- 
ble. If  a  college  could  be  found  anywhere  in  the 
wide  earth  where  singing  was  unknown,  one  would 
infer  but  dry  returns  from  a  mental  life  so  hard  and 
joyless.  College  authorities,  moreover,  have  al- 
ways encouraged  music  as  a  religious  agency;  the 
college  chapel,  like  every  church,  must  have  its 
organ  and  choir.  The  glee-club  is  an  institution 
already  of  respectable  antiquity,  and  always  re- 
ceives ofl&cial  countenance.  Many  collegiate  bodies 
have  so  far  advanced  in  the  recognition  of  musical 
values  that  they  give  aid  and  comfort  to  choral 
societies,  and  it  is  not  unusual  to  find  among  the 
events  of  the  academic  year  professional  perform- 
ances of  orchestral,  chamber,  and  solo  music,  in- 
dorsed by  faculty  action  if  not  actually  guaranteed 
by  the  college  treasury.  These  privileges  have 
been  esteemed  as  a  refining  influence,  a  tonic  and 
recreative  agent,  classed  even  with  the  religious 
exercises  on  Sunday  and  in  the  daily  chapel  as  an 

80 


MUSIC  IN  THE  COLLEGE 

Ingredient  in  that  spiritual  atmosphere  which  can- 
not be  sufficiently  providc<l  by  the  work  of  lal>ora- 
lory,  library,  and  lecture-room.  Certain  forms  of 
music  have  alwa>-s  liccn  in  the  odor  of  sanctity, 
and  in  such  institutions  as  the  English  universities, 
standinj^  ui>on  ecclesiastical  foundations,  and  in 
many  American  schools  created  as  adjuncts  to  re- 
ligious denominations,  the  ancient  associations  of 
music  with  the  inner  life  of  the  church  have  made 
a  partial  adoption  of  it  into  the  educational  s>'stcm 
inevila!)le. 

Secular  music,  however,  stands  on  a  different 
footing.  Its  necessity  is  not  so  evident,  its  claims 
not  at  first  sight  so  imj^erative.  It,  too,  has  its 
associations,  but  they  are  not  in  all  cases  entirely 
edifying.  In  every  college  in  this  country  the  wel- 
come has  iKvn  long  dclaye<l.  in  many  the  invitation 
is  still  jurlial  and  grudging,  and  in  not  a  few  the 
fair  applicant  still  finds  a  barricaded  door.  Even 
at  the  Ix-st  it  may  Ix*  stated  as  a  general  fact  that, 
until  very  recent  da>'s.  it  was  practically  the  unan- 
imous verdict  of  the  American  colleges  that  if 
music  were  to  he  admitted  under  any  conditions 
it  should  Ik'  by  virtue  of  its  religious  contribution; 
and,  if  secular,  employed  as  an  accessor)',  a  decora- 
tion, if  '  use  the  term,  important  just  as  it 
is  desir.i  .;  the  academic  buildings  should  be 
comely  and  symmetrically  placed,  the  grounds  at- 
tractive to  the  eye  in  their  smooth  spaces  of  grecn- 
er\'.  their  balanced  grouping  of  shrubs  and  trees. 
These  thing'i,  it  was  agreed,  furnish  an  cnWron- 

8i 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

ment  from  which  the  stern  ways  of  learning  derive 
a  certain  grace  and  tenderness,  and  exert  a  sub- 
jugating spell  upon  the  rude  spirits  of  rebellious 
youth. 

Farther  than  this  many  college  governors  are 
still  reluctant  to  go.  A  prejudice  against  music 
lingers  in  the  minds  of  scientific  and  literary  men. 
An  apprehension  of  its  structure  and  qualities  calls 
for  the  exercise  of  mental  processes  that  are  differ- 
ent from  those  employed  in  their  special  pursuits, 
and  it  is  often  difficult  for  a  scholar  to  realize 
that  there  can  be  scholarship  in  a  department  that 
is  radically  different  from  his  own.  Those  who 
follow  a  science  develop  a  strictly  scientific  habit. 
They  want  what  they  call  ideas,  facts,  contact  with 
reality,  and  in  this  music  seems  to  them  to  be  lack- 
ing. They  distrust  a  power  that  acts  upon  the 
sense  and  the  uncharted  field  of  primary  emotion, 
without  leaving  a  deposit  that  can  be  recalled  and 
used.  Instead  of  offering  us  more  of  the  life  to 
which  our  experience  is  united,  music,  they  would 
say,  annuls  that  life  and  creates  a  world  of  its  own, 
a  world  as  intangible  as  the  fairy  realms  of  Celtic 
legend. 

How  shall  one  bring  the  nervous  excitements  of 
music  into  friendly  union  with  the  sciences  and 
philosophies?  Religious  music,  say  the  conser- 
vators of  scholastic  tradition,  we  will  receive,  for 
not  only  is  it  an  aid  to  devotion,  but  for  that  very 
reason  it  renounces  the  sensual  allurements  and 
emotional   agitations   of   instrumental   color    and 

82 


MUSIC  IN  TIIK  COLLEGE 

rhythm,  and  assodatcs  itself  with  the  most  tran- 
quilli/.in^  ideas.  Hut  what  of  operas,  orchestral 
|K*rform.inccs  of  the  works  of  the  mcMlcrn  sensa- 
tional school,  and  the  dazzling  exploits  of  virtuosos? 
What  is  the  sijjniticancc  of  the  frenzied  applause 
that  follows  these  astonishing;  displays?  Is  there 
not  something  iKTversc  in  the  very  nature  of 
music  that  moves  it  often  to  act  as  a  distraction 
from  serious  concerns  and  prcwluce  mental  disturb- 
ances that  are  exhausting  instead  of  tonic? 

Even  the  votaries  of  this  seductive  art  arc 
force*!  to  admit  that  certain  safeguards  should  \)c 
thrown  around  musical  indulgence.  Music,  by  its 
very  nature,  is  subject  to  a  suspicion  to  which  none 
of  its  sister  arts  are  exposed.  Even  so  lilxTal  a 
thinker  as  William  James  exhorts  concert-goers  to 
|X'rf»)rm  .some  Ix-nevolent  action  after  every  musical 
entertainment,  in  order  that  their  volition  shall 
not  be  weakened  by  the  hypnotizing  sixrll  that  has 
Ixx-n  thrown  around  them.  The  writer  of  a  re- 
cent much-advertised  bcH)k  assures  his  readers  that 
music  always  saps  the  vitality  of  its  devotees,  and 
that  there  never  was  a  composer  more  than  half  of 
whose  life  did  not  rccjuire  ajx^logy.  A  writer  in 
the  Harvard  Stusical  Rn;inv  sa>'s:  "Let  a  motlem 
ordiestra  play  a  pure  triad  —  only  one  —  with  its 
vibrating  yellow  violin  tones,  the  shimmering  white 
of  its  woo<l,  the  blazing  red  which  its  brass  can 
make  visible,  the  narcotic  quivering  of  the  harp, 
and  the  barbarous  rumble  of  the  tympani  —  one 
chord  only  —  and  people  arc  in  a  state  where  they 

83 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

cannot  discern  between  their  right  hand  and  their 
left,  where  a  papier-mache  dragon  is  terrifying,  and 
prostitution  beautiful." 

It  is  certainly  interesting  to  be  told  that  the 
ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  higher  circles  of  Boston 
are  thrown  into  a  state  of  erotic  dementia  at  every 
concert  in  Symphony  Hall.  The  only  purpose  in 
quoting  this  ridiculous  statement,  and  the  equally 
absurd  assertion  of  Price  Collier,  is  to  call  attention 
to  the  fact  that  even  the  most  puritanical  enemy 
of  aesthetic  indulgence  would  never  think  of  apply- 
ing such  terms  to  any  other  art.  That  the  mind 
of  a  musician  could  ever  work  like  that  of  this 
writer  in  the  Harvard  magazine  indicates  that  there 
is  something  pecuhar  to  the  nature  of  music  which 
may,  in  a  certain  order  of  minds,  give  rise  to  un- 
wholesome suggestions.  There  is  no  other  artistic 
agency  that  is  productive  of  such  physical  excite- 
ment as  the  rhythm,  tone-color,  and  dynamic  out- 
bursts of  music.  Musical  performance,  in  all 
periods  of  its  history,  has  tended  toward  the  exag- 
gerations of  virtuosity.  In  music,  as  in  the  drama, 
those  who  are  most  conscious  of  its  higher  intel- 
lectual and  poetic  values  are  always  aware  that 
their  efforts  as  its  patrons  for  the  sake  of  its  bene- 
fits must  include  resistance  to  its  abuses.  Music 
has  an  unparalleled  efficiency  as  an  intensifier  of 
feeling,  and  has  no  hesitation  between  health  and 
disease  in  forming  its  alliances.  The  nervous  and 
emotional  excitements  that  accompany  musical 
performance    when    all    its    fascinations    are    un- 

84 


MUSIC  IN  THE  COLLEGE 

chained  arc  indeed  a  heightening  of  life  for  the 
moment;  but  the  test  of  value  comes  with  the  re- 
action that  follt)ws.  when  the  serious  inquirer  asks 
the  question  that  Taine  prop>ounds  in  view  of  the 
spectacular  French  grand  0[)era,  viz.,  What  is  it 
that  we  have  felt  —  have  we,  in  sober  fact,  felt 
anything? 

Herein  is  the  test  of  the  worth  of  any  aesthetic 
cx{x:rience  —  has  life  l)een  iK-rmanently  instead  of 
temporarily  heightened?  Arc  these  vivid  musical 
cxyx-riences  refreshing  as  well  as  stimulating? 
And  if  music  as  a  continued  object  of  pursuit  in- 
volves exiK-rienccs  which,  however  delightful,  are 
sui>erficial  and  transitory,  does  the  art  contain 
compensations  which  will  correct  the  tendencies 
which,  when  overemphasized,  bring  against  it  the 
warnings  of  philosophers  and  moralists?  What  do 
history  and  psychology  teach  concerning  the  essen- 
tial nature  of  music?  Do  they  justify  the  love 
which  mankind  has  always  bestowed  upon  this 
constant  companion  of  its  joys  and  sorrows?  Is 
this  love  a  love  of  passion,  or  of  reverence?  And 
if  the  latter,  what  are  the  attributes  which  have 
enabled  music  to  set  up  its  shrine  in  the  deeper 
heart  of  humanity?  Certainly  an  art  that  is  so 
superficial  and  debilitating  as  its  enemies  assert 
could  never  have  become  a  universal  need,  could 
nc\cr  have  reached  its  fullest  development  in  na- 
tions that  are  pre-eminent  in  physical  ami  intellec- 
tual energy.  There  must  be  .something  in  its  very 
nature  that  promotes  mental  and  moral  health 

8S 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

when  wisely  used.  The  first  task  in  determining 
the  place  of  music  in  education  must  be  to  discover 
the  character  of  these  elements  of  virtue.  When 
these  are  known,  the  further  problem  of  employing 
them  will  be  shorn  of  the  most  serious  of  its  diffi- 
culties. 

Ill 

An  education  that  is  in  the  highest  degree 
worthy  of  the  name  will  accomplish  two  results 
—  it  will  stimulate  all  the  physical,  mental,  and 
spiritual  faculties  into  a  self-conscious  and  ever 
self-renewing  activity,  and  it  will  create  in  the 
individual  a  realization  of  his  vital  relationship  to 
the  world  and  society.  In  all  his  studies  he  will 
find  a  personal  value  and  a  social  value.  His  aim, 
implicit  and  direct,  will  be  the  further  expansion  of 
life.  In  certain  departments  into  which  his  train- 
ing is  divided  —  such,  for  example,  as  physical 
culture,  mathematics,  language-study  —  the  stu- 
dent will  have  the  attainment  of  personal  efficiency 
as  his  particular  goal;  in  others  —  as,  for  instance, 
history,  political  science,  Hterature  —  the  social 
consciousness  will  be  especially  active.  In  the 
one  order  of  studies  consciousness  is  especially  di- 
rected inward,  in  the  other  outward.  In  the  union 
of  the  two  —  in  the  release  of  inner  vigor  and  in  a 
joyous  sympathy  with  the  life  of  the  world  and 
man  —  lies  culture. 

It  is  the  characteristic  of  art  that,  when  studied 
86 


MUSIC  IN  THE  COLLEGE 

in  all  its  relations,  it  accomplishes  l)oth  these  re- 
sults and  becomes  a  cultural  influence  of  a  high 
order.  For  art  is  not  only  a  jK-rsonal  exiK-ricncc, 
it  also  has  a  history.  \Vc  appropriate  the  i)icture, 
the  symphony,  the  poem,  and  it  so  stirs  our  spirit 
that  for  the  moment  we  arc  isolatctl  in  our  rapture 
and  self  is  all  in  all.  Hut  when  we  cmt-rge  from 
our  trance  we  sec  the  work  as  objective,  its  relation- 
ships appear,  and  we  obtain  from  it  instruction  that 
adds  to  our  actjuainlance  with  life.  As  these  ex- 
periences multiply  they  inevitably  connect  them- 
selves witli  the  exjKricnces  of  others,  in  the  i)ast 
as  well  as  Uic  present;  we  are  led  into  the  great 
world  of  thought  and  emotion  that  envelops  our 
own,  and  the  reaction  to  the  immetliale  impression 
is  mergeil  in  the  desire  to  know  and  feel  in  the 
whole  as  well  as  in  the  particular.  The  history  of 
art  ap|)ears  to  us  not  merely  interesting  but  neces- 
sary, for  it  brings  to  us  communications  that  in- 
form us  of  the  true  source  of  that  faith  in  its  value 
which  we  instinctively  feel.  We  learn  that  it 
comes  from  the  heart  of  humanity,  and  that  our 
joy  in  it  is  an  implicit  recognition  of  a  common 
^iritual  herilane.  Art  is  supremely  a  unifying 
power.  Men  clutch  selfishly  at  material  benefits, 
but  in  the  presence  of  beauty  there  is  the  sympathy 
of  fellowship,  since  to  sh.r  '  !y  with  another 
is  to  incre;Lsc  one's  own  p 

It  is  plain  that  music  is  essentially  at  one  with 
the  other  arts  in  these  res|>ccts.  It  is.  like  them, 
a  striving  of  U)e  human  spirit  after  self-realization, 

87 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

and  it  has  a  peculiar  power  of  exciting  and  convey- 
ing ideas  that  lie  at  the  basis  of  emotional  experi- 
ence. Hence  the  universality  of  its  appeal.  It 
is  the  language  by  which  men  read  one  another's 
hearts. 

What,  then,  is  this  communication  effected  by 
music?  Just  what  does  it  present  which  those 
who  produce  and  hear  it  recognize  as  a  testimony 
to  a  common  human  need? 

In  the  first  place  it  gives  evidence  of  moods  and 
impulses  that  are  so  profound  and  diffused  that 
they  can  be  expressed  only  by  symbolism  and  sug- 
gestion —  that  are  understood  only  as  a  kindred 
spirit  is  set  into  corresponding  vibration.  That 
music  is  devoid  of  the  imitative  means  which  the 
other  arts  possess,  instead  of  being  a  weakness,  is 
the  very  reason  of  its  peculiar  power.  It  uses 
auditory  instead  of  visible  or  definitely  suggestive 
images,  but  this  erects  no  barrier  between  the  soul 
and  the  object  of  its  craving.  Reality  is  not  per- 
ceived by  the  senses,  but  is  touched  only  when  the 
soul  is  put  in  motion  and  reaches  out  in  search  of 
its  counterpart.  The  function  of  all  art  is  thus  to 
stir  the  soul;  it  is  symbolic  and  not  literally  rep- 
resentative. The  visual  images  of  painting  and 
sculpture,  and  the  suggested  images  of  poetry,  are 
only  symbols  of  a  deeper  fact  which  is  not  contained 
in  their  palpable  forms.  Still  more  penetrating  are 
the  symbols  of  music,  for  motion  and  change,  tim- 
bre and  rhythm,  offer  an  infinitely  subtle  corre- 
spondence with  the  flux  and  varying  tension  of 

88 


MUSIC  IN  THE  COLLEGE 

the  inner  life  of  feeling.  And  music  does  more 
than  this  -  it  not  only  projects  these  puls.'ilions 
and  gives  tliem  organized  form,  but  it  creates  them. 
Life  seems  to  receive  a  passionate  reinforcement 
under  the  thrill  of  music.  One  lives  intensely  in 
a  newly  revealetl  world.  Music  is  thus  a  means 
of  the  manifc*station  of  essential  life,  and  it  is  a 
life  not  less  real  and  significant  because  it  discloses 
itself  not  so  much  in  achievement  as  in  aspiration. 
Every  one  Is  aware  of  a  sort  of  yearning  quality 
in  music,  which  even  jKwtry  cannot  contain  in  an 
equal  degree.  It  has  been  called  the  keenest  ex- 
pression of  the  joy  of  life,  but  it  might  be  called 
with  equal  truth  the  keenest  expression  of  the 
pathos  of  life.  It  Is  the  projection  of  life  in  its 
simplest  and  most  ardent  emotional  elements,  de- 
tached from  those  incidents  that  make  .so  much 
of  the  sum  of  daily  existence  -  -  detached  even  from 
those  material  suggestions  from  which  the  most 
mystical  and  tenuous  i>octry  cannot  wholly  free 
itself.  In  music  the  undercurrents  of  life  come  to 
the  surface,  and  as  it  takes  possession  of  our  senses 
and  puts  the  will  to  sleep  it  awakens  faculties  of 
which  in  our  ordinary*  daily  course  we  are  not 
aware.  It  is  music,  more  than  any  other  medium, 
which  reaches  down  into  that  "burietl  life"  which 
Matthew  Arnold  divines  as  tlie  home  of  the  far- 
thest secret  of  our  search  —  **the  m>*stery  of  this 
heart  which  beats  so  wild,  so  deep  in  us,"  "the  name- 
less feelings  that  course  through  our  breast,"  the 
unknown  source  "whence  our  lives  come  and  where 

89 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

they  go."  Music,  no  doubt,  leaves  us  always  un- 
satisfied, but  the  only  convincing  explanation  of 
its  peculiar  power  is  that  it  comes  "from  the  soul's 
subterranean  depth  upborne,"  and  affords  us  the 
bewildering  and  fascinating  paradox  that,  while  it 
avoids  the  reproduction  of  everything  that  we  are 
accustomed  to  call  reality,  it  brings  vividly  to  our 
consciousness  that  mysterious  substance  in  our  na- 
ture that  seems  most  truly  permanent  and  real. 

It  is  this  intimation  of  a  yet  unfathomed  spiritual 
meaning  which  makes  music  not  only  a  cherished 
object  of  affection,  but  also  an  inexhaustibly  in- 
viting theme  of  inquiry  on  the  part  of  psycholo- 
gists and  aestheticians.  In  the  development  of  its 
technical  forms  it  has  attained  an  exquisite  and 
ordered  complexity  which  affords  endless  dehght 
to  the  theorist  and  the  historian;  but  to  linger  in 
this  region  is  to  dwell  upon  the  surface.  Music  is 
not  merely  "an  art  of  beautiful  motion,"  as  many 
of  its  practitioners  seem  to  conceive  it  —  it  testi- 
fies to  a  necessity  of  utterance  in  the  human  soul; 
it  is  an  evidence  of  the  spirit's  striving  after  light 
and  self-knowledge,  and  hence  is  not  less  deserving 
of  learned  consideration  than  those  arts,  appar- 
ently more  definitely  instructive,  which  vainly  try 
to  persuade  us  that  they  teach  us  something  that 
is  both  tangible  and  conclusive. 


90 


MUSIC  IN  THE  COLLEGE 

TV 

Mu^ic  has  a  history,  ll  is  M-li-M)iistiin  use,  ami 
its  forms  arc  the  result  of  the  tlcvelopment  of  cen- 
turies. It  has  at  the  same  time  sought  to  extern! 
and  deepen  its  powers  of  expression.  In  this  effort 
it  has  not  remained  isolated  or  wholly  self-dej>end- 
ent;  it  has  responded  to  certain  stimuli  that  have 
acted  u{X)n  literatures,  arts,  philosophies,  and  insti- 
tutions, and  like  them  is  to  be  understood  not  by 
itself  alone,  but  in  its  relation  to  the  larger  tend- 
encies of  the  age.  Spiritual  forces,  beyond  indi- 
vidual control,  are  moulding  human  existence;  they 
arc  apparent  in  the  aspirations  and  cvcr-broaden- 
i  'ions  that  make  history.     Human  con- 

i-  a  channel  in  which  these  forces  move, 
and  mankind  testifies  to  its  recognition  of  them  in 
religions,  philosophies,  and  the  arts.  "The  |>olil- 
ical  life  of  a  nation,"  says  the  author  of  Jean  Chris- 
topke,  "is  only  the  most  superficial  asi>cct  of  its 
being.  In  order  to  know  its  interior  life  it  is  neccs- 
sar)'  to  |K*netrate  to  its  st)ul  through  literature, 
philosophy,  and  the  arts,  for  in  these  arc  reflected 
the  ideas,  the  passions,  and  the  dreams  of  a  whole 
people."  Is  this  statement  as  true  in  resixxt  to 
music  as  it  unquestionably  is  in  respect  to  litera- 
ture and  the  arts  of  design?  If  so.  then  we  have 
the  strongest  motive  for  extending  our  study  of 
music  outside  our  own  individual  ex]xrricncc,  find- 
ing in  its  large  historic  evidences  a  value  which 
supplements    and    dignifies    our    direct    personal 

9« 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

pleasure.  When  we  survey  composers  and  musical 
works  in  groups  and  masses  —  in  connection  with 
historic  institutions,  such  as  the  mediaeval  church, 
with  intellectual  tendencies,  such  as  the  German 
and  French  romantic  movements,  or  with  national 
strivings  for  expression,  as  in  the  music  of  Russia  or 
Finland  —  music  takes  to  our  view  a  representative 
aspect  and  aids  us  in  attaining  a  deeper  knowledge 
of  the  epochs  to  which  these  phenomena  belong. 

Not  less  stimulating  to  our  curiosity  are  the 
biographical  suggestions  that  spring  up  the  moment 
we  are  drawn  to  the  work  of  any  one  of  the  great 
leaders  of  musical  progress.  Every  composition 
that  possesses  the  decided  note  of  individuality 
startles  us  with  the  conviction  that  a  message  from 
a  fellow  being  is  conveyed  to  us;  that  it  is  not  a 
formal  piece  of  handicraft  but  an  emanation  from 
its  author's  essential  life.  We  as  human  beings, 
alive  to  all  things  human,  find  that  our  hearts  are 
awakened  to  sympathy  with  a  heart  that  is  appeal- 
ing for  our  comprehension.  One  evidence  of  this 
is  that  we  invariably  wish  to  know  the  name  of 
the  composer  of  the  music  we  enjoy.  If  the  name 
had  before  been  unfamiliar,  then  a  new  friend  is 
added  to  our  circle.  If  the  music  is  the  work  of 
one  who  is  already  a  favorite,  about  whose  life  we 
are  already  informed,  then  we  join  the  present 
impression  to  previous  impressions,  all  working  to- 
gether to  enlarge  our  acquaintance  with  the  hon- 
ored master.  We  call  an  instrumental  composi- 
tion  that   bears   a   poetic   title    "representative" 

92 


MUSIC  IN  TIIE  COLLEGE 

music;   but  is  not  ever)'  characteristic  production 
of  genius  representative  ?    Is  there  not  something  in 

the  "  Unfmishctl  Symphony"  of  Schubert  that  i  '  : 
tilies  him  a-s  distinct  in  temperament  and  cxjm  ri 
ence  from  his  contemporary  peers,  Beethoven  and 
Weber;  and,  again,  docs  not  the  music  of  these 
masters  aLso  disclose  intellectual  traits  that  could 
be  deUnitely  characterized,  and  that  add  a  human 
interest  lo  their  art? 

Thus  individual  works  and  groups  of  works  ap- 
pear to  us  envelop>ed  in  an  atmosphere  which  col- 
cr^  and  vilali/es  them.  Their  ultimate  value  con- 
sists in  U)cir  relation  to  life  —  the  amount  and 
quality  of  life  which  they  contain. 

V 

That  music  is  a  natural  outgrowth  of  the  emo- 
tional Ufe.  that  its  significance  lies  in  its  testimony 
to  that  life,  is  shown,  first,  in  its  universality. 
There  have  Ixm  nations  wnihout  sculpture,  with- 
out painting,  without  architecture,  none  vsithout 
some  form,  however  crude,  of  music  and  poetry  — 
these  two  arts  in  their  earlier  stages  Ix^ing  always 
inseparably  blended  together.  Knowledge  may 
seclude  itself  for  a  personal  advantage,  but  the 
emotions  are  always  s(Kial ;  they  strive  to  communi- 
cate themselves  in  the  search  for  sympathy,  and 
tbey  End  least  resistance  along  the  lines  of  sound 
and    '  1  dancing,  with  s.  1 

of  in  ,  are  universally  (  i 

9i 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

among  primitive  peoples,  for  the  purpose  of  ob- 
taining a  livelier  consciousness  of  ideas  that  are 
held  in  common,  and  also  for  making  those  ideas 
operative  in  some  way  supposed  to  be  helpful  to 
the  community.  Instinctive  desire  for  expression 
is  seen  in  songs  that  celebrate  the  joys  of  war  and 
the  chase,  the  longings  of  love,  the  maternal  feel- 
ings, the  woe  of  bereavement,  the  every-day  cares 
of  the  household,  the  various  amenities  that  even 
the  rudest  life  affords.  Everything  that  can  stir 
the  heart  to  a  quicker  pulsation  is  heightened  or 
alleviated  by  audible  manifestations  in  which  a 
regulative  artistic  principle  may  be  perceived. 
Collective  songs  which  have  a  practical  utilitarian 
purpose  may  be  grouped  into  two  classes,  viz.,  songs 
of  labor  and  songs  used  in  magical  incantation. 
Rites  of  magic  include  almost  everything  that  is 
called  religious  in  the  practice  of  primitive  peoples, 
extending  also  far  up  into  the  ceremonies  of  the 
ancient  cultured  nations,  such  as  the  Egyptians, 
Hebrews,  Greeks,  and  Romans.  In  songs  of  labor 
and  songs  that  always  accompany  the  ritual  of 
sorcery  we  are  face  to  face  with  the  very  origin  of 
music  and  poetry. 

When,  in  the  further  progress  of  the  race,  literary 
and  plastic  records  appear,  these  records  furnish 
constant  evidence  of  the  universal  diffusion  of 
musical  practice.  The  pagan  nations  of  ancient 
and  modern  times  have  shown  their  veneration  for 
music  by  imputing  its  invention  to  the  gods.  The 
Hebrews  alone  refrained  from  such  attribution,  but 

94 


MUSIC  IN  THE  COLLEGE 

they  conformed  to  a  universal  iK'lief  in  ascribing 
to  music  magical  powers.  The  more  enlightened 
the  nation,  as  for  i"xam|)le  the  Greeks,  the  more 
refined  and  extcndcii  music  Ix-came.  and  the  more 
prominent  the  place  assigned  to  it  in  the  systems 
of  philosophers,  educators,  and  lawj^ivers.  That 
out  of  this  universiU  love  of  music  no  independent 
and  progressive  musical  art  was  achieved  by  the 
cultivated  nations  of  antiquity  may  \)c  partially 
explained  by  the  jxTsistenl  notion  that  the  css<.'n- 
tial  purpose  of  music  is  utilitarian  —  for  example, 
acting  as  an  cfl'icicnt  means  of  controlling?  the  in- 
visible |x>wcrs  in  magical  incantations,  stimulating 
the  ph>'sical  energies  in  labor,  guiding  the  dance, 
sui<  '  the  voice  in  poetic  recitation.  The  full 
de%  .  It  of  an  imleix-ndent  art  of  tone  is  im- 
possible without  an  elaborate  scientific  theory,  and 
the  only  class  caj)al)le  of  such  an  achievement  was 
one  whose  olViciaJ  station  and  habits  of  mini!  kept 
them  bound  to  custom  and  tradition.  It  may  be 
also,  as  Dr.  \Vashingt<m  Gladden  has  suggested, 
that  spiritual  relinement  must  attain  a  higher  stage 
before  music,  "the  most  spiritual  of  the  arts." 
could  fuliil  the  lowers  that  are  latent  within  it. 
"The  revelation  of  God  to  man  is  always  a  slow 
and  gradual  process  —  this  phase  of  it  as  well  as 
any  other." 

This  fact  of  the  tardint»ss  of  music  in  reaching 
its  full  indejxmdence,  however  it  may  be  explained, 
in  no  way  lessens  the  importance  of  music  as  a 
factor  in  the  history  of  culture.     It  is  only  a  matter 

95 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

of  degrees;  the  powers  of  music  as  an  exponent 
of  essential  needs  of  the  human  spirit  have  never 
failed  to  manifest  themselves  since  humanity  be- 
came self-conscious.  The  revived  study  of  folk- 
song in  recent  times  is  the  expression  of  the  belief 
on  the  part  of  modern  scholarship  that  in  the  more 
remote  records  of  melody  and  poetry  are  to  be 
found  important  lessons  in  racial  psychology.  For 
the  songs  of  a  people  are  the  most  spontaneous  ex- 
pression of  fundamental  traits  of  character,  truth- 
ful because  they  are  not  the  product  of  that  de- 
liberate reflection  which  often  involves  a  certain 
danger  of  insincerity.  The  songs  of  a  nation  that 
possesses  a  strongly  marked  individuahty  will  dis- 
tinctly differ  from  those  of  its  neighbors;  they  will 
embody  some  peculiar  types  of  melody,  tonahty, 
rhythm,  or  embellishment  which  are  plainly  sug- 
gestive of  certain  distinctive  qualities  in  the  national 
temperament.  No  connoisseur  in  such  matters 
would  mistake  a  Gaelic  folk-song  of  Scotland  or 
Ireland  for  a  French  chanson,  or  a  German  Hed 
for  an  Italian  romanza.  These  songs  first  appear 
among  the  unlettered  class,  and  have  no  connec- 
tion with  the  cultured  art  which  may  flourish  in 
their  neighborhood;  they  are  quickened  by  the 
commonplace  events  that  arouse  personal  or  social 
self-consciousness;  they  are  adopted  into  the  every- 
day life  of  the  community,  and  become  endeared 
by  association  with  a  multitude  of  intimate  and 
common  interests.  If  we  wish  to  penetrate  into 
the  very  heart  of  a  people,  to  comprehend  what  is 

96 


MUSIC   IN   THE  COLLEGE 

most  sincere  and  fumiamental  in  its  character,  we 
may  receive  no  slight  assistance  from  the  testi- 
mony to  Ix-  found  in  its  store  of  popular  song. 

Let  us  come  higher,  into  the  vast  wealth  of  the 
cultivatetl.  scientific  music  of  the  past  three  cen- 
turies, and  we  shall  fmd  there  a  still  more  illumi- 
nating relation  to  national  Hie.    The  genius  of  each 
of  the  three  foremost  musical  nations,  Italy,  Ger- 
many, and  France,  has  imparted  clearly  defined 
and  siH'cial  characteristics  to  the  works  of  its  rep- 
resentative composers.     Lightness  of   movement, 
a  vocal  quality  as  <listinct  from  instrumental,  em- 
phasis ui)on  tuneful  mclotly,  symmetry  of  form,  a 
strong  tendency  to  reflect  transient  emotions  and 
general  ideas,  are  apparent  in  Italian  mu.sic.     In 
Germany,    the   mehxiy,    less   suave   and   regular, 
more  free,  terse,  and  impassioned,  is  less  separate 
in  its  impression  from  the  solid  basis  of  harmony 
out  of  which  it  sc-ems  to  grow;  grandeur  of  design, 
massivcness  and  complexity  of  structure,   depth 
and  earnestness,  an  in>istent  striving  after  varie<i 
expression  even  to  the  sacrifice  of  sui>erficial  charm 
—  these  features  are  characteristically  Teutonic. 
In  the  work  of  the  leading  French  composers  there 
is  everywhere  apparent  a  love  of  the  dramatic  and 
picturesque,  an  effort  to  present  definite  concep- 
tions, a  fondness  for  moulding  the  work  in  accord- 
ance with  preconceived  theories,  predominance  of 
the  critical  and  reflective  over  the  creative  and  spon- 
taneous. sui>  nt   of   technique,  elegance, 
grace,  and   p:   .           i.     These   traits   have  their 

97 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

parallel  in  tendencies  that  have  given  to  the  whole 
intellectual  achievements  of  these  nations  —  par- 
ticularly literature  and  art  —  their  historic  char- 
acter. So  tenacious  are  these  peculiarities  that 
they  survive  even  that  strong  cosmopolitan  tend- 
ency that  appears  in  the  work  of  certain  excep- 
tional artists  of  recent  days,  which  strives  to  oblit- 
erate national  distinctions  in  the  effort  to  work  out 
problems  that  are  common  to  the  whole  intellec- 
tual world.  Equally  illustrative  of  the  persistent 
control  of  music  by  national  temperament  is  the 
product  of  such  recent  aspirants  for  musical  re- 
nown as  Russia,  Norway,  and  Finland.  Indeed, 
nothing  is  more  clear  than  that  the  former  unifica- 
tion of  musical  style  was  greatly  due  to  the  hege- 
mony of  Italy  in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth 
centuries,  and  of  Germany  in  the  nineteenth,  and 
that  the  struggle  everywhere  at  the  present  day 

—  one  that  is  also  beginning  to  be  felt  in  America 

—  is  for  independent  national  assertion. 

Not  less  striking  are  the  differences  in  physi- 
ognomy and  purpose  between  the  music  of  the 
eighteenth  century  and  that  of  the  nineteenth,  dif- 
ferences plainly  corresponding  to  social  and  intel- 
lectual features  which  distinguish  those  periods 
from  one  another.  The  patronage  of  the  progress- 
ive music  of  the  eighteenth  century  was  almost 
completely  in  the  hands  of  the  aristocratic,  fash- 
ionable class  (one  who  makes  an  exception  of 
J.  S.  Bach  overlooks  the  great  part  played  by  secu- 
lar music  in  his  work  and  his  education) ;  and  as  the 

98 


MUSIC   LN  THE  COLLKGE 

ideas  and  manners  of  this  class  were  very  much 
the  same  all  over  Europe,  national  distinctions  are 
less  evident  than  they  arc  in  the  changed  conditions 
of  tlie  nineteenth  century.  The  secular  music  of 
the  old  regime  took  its  direction  from  the  salon 
and  the  oix-ra-house;  French  and  Italian  fa.shions 
ruled  in  music;  the  art  became  formal  and  aca- 
demic, l^eing  conceived  as  essentially  a  means  of 
transient  entertainment,  deferential  to  the  light 
tastes  of  a  pleasure-seeking  nobility.  The  char- 
acter of  sch(X)ls  of  art  dej^ends  much  upon  the  char- 
.■-  '  r  of  their  patronage;  in  the  seventeenth  and 
ti^iilecnth  centuries,  probably  for  the  last  time  in 
the  history  of  the  world,  the  arts  were  subject  to 
the  rule  of  a  heretlitary  governing  aristocracy. 

Neither  were  the  dominant  intellectual  forces  of 
the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries  such  as 
WM'ild  stimulate  the  noblest  jxiwers  of  an  art  like 
mu>ic.  It  was  the  age  of  Enlightenment  and  Ra- 
tionalism, where  the  reliance  in  the  search  for  truth 
was  ui>on  the  shaq)  discriminating  understanding, 
not  ujwn  the  intuition,  when  the  world  of  sense  and 
experience  was  the  whole  world  of  reality,  and  the 
search  mt>st  worthy  of  man  was  conceivc<l  as  that 
which  makes  for  distinctness  and  clearness  of  ol)- 
scrvation  and  conception.  The  dominant  spirit 
was  that  of  analysis,  criticism,  and  lope.  With 
the  rejection  of  authority  there  was  laid  the  foun- 
dation of  sdcncc  and  individual  freedom,  but  this 
gain  was  paid  for  by  a  distrust  antl  virtual  repres- 
sion of  forces  such  as  those  whirh  prikluaMl  the 

99 


INIUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

ages  of  religious  enthusiasm  and  the  great  creative 
periods  of  art.  In  such  an  atmosphere  music  could 
attain  formal  elegance,  technical  precision,  and 
melodious  charm  —  it  could  not  find  an  open  field 
for  the  exercise  of  its  full  emotional  energy.  No 
more  instructive  illustration  of  the  dependence  of 
music  upon  circumstances  can  be  found  than  in  the 
work  of  Handel  —  a  man  nine-tenths  of  whose 
enormous  intellectual  force  was  wasted  because  he 
could  not  escape  from  the  limitations  imposed 
by  the  narrow,  superficial  requirements  of  his 
pubHc. 

The  great  tone  masters  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury felt  the  stir  of  far  mightier  forces,  for  they 
were  sons  of  the  people  in  a  sense  in  which  the 
composers  of  the  eighteenth  century  were  not. 
The  problems  of  the  age,  its  hopes,  its  doubts,  its 
spiritual  strivings,  penetrated  their  souls  and  vi- 
brate in  their  music.  They  could  not  in  any  other 
period  have  been  what  they  were.  The  art  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  as  a  rule,  ignored  the  existence 
of  passion,  misery,  and  fear  —  there  was  no  place 
in  it  for  a  Millet,  a  Rodin,  or  a  Dostoievsky;  the 
art  of  the  nineteenth  century  digs  deep  into  the 
facts  of  human  nature  and  does  not  shrink  before 
its  discoveries.  Analogous  contrasts  may  be  found 
in  the  music  of  the  two  epochs.  Even  had  the  in- 
struments and  the  forms  been  ready,  no  "Sym- 
phonie  pathetiquc,"  no  "Tristan  und  Isolde," 
could  have  sprung  from  the  light  soil  of  the  eight- 
eenth century. 

ICO 


MUSIC  IN  THE  COLLEGE 

VI 

The  history  of  music  leads  into  fields  that  are 
inexhaustible  in  instruction  and  suggestivencss. 
Jules  Comharicu.  at  the  close  of  his  study  of  the 
development  of  musical  art,  asks  the  old  question, 
why  music  has  held  so  great  a  place  in  the  progress 
of  dvilixalion.  and.  passing  by  the  conventional  ex- 
planations, finds  his  answer  in  the  simple  fact  that 
man  is  a  being  of  faith,  imagination,  and  sentiment. 
That  prolific  and  harmonious  culture  of  the  Greeks 
can  hardly  be  appreciated  without  taking  account 
of  the  part  that  music  played  in  their  education. 
The  development  of  Roman  Catholic  music  from 
the  fifth  century  to  the  sixteenth  not  only  throws 
a  vivid  light  upon  some  of  the  modes  of  thought 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  but  also  helps  us  to  under- 
stand the  unique  |X)wer  which  the  Roman  Catholic 
polity  and  discipline  have  always  exercised  upon 
the  human  mind.  The  influential  part  which  the 
German  Chorale  playtxl  in  Uie  early  extension  of 
Protestantism  Ls  known  to  all  students  of  the 
Reformation.  The  religious  works  of  Sebastian 
Bach,  which  were  based  to  a  large  extent  up>on  the 
Chorale,  clearly  reflect  the  spirit  and  temper  of 
German  Protestantism.  Tlie  career  of  the  opera  is 
closely  bound  up  with  the  history  of  European 
manners  for  three  hundred  years.  Music  is  the 
t>pical  art  of  the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth  cen- 
turies, as  painting  was  of  the  fifteenth,  sixteenth, 
and  seventeenth,  and  demands  for  its  full  compre- 

lOI 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

hension  a  similar  reference  to  its  historic  back- 
ground. The  musical  problems  of  the  nineteenth 
century  —  the  relation  of  music  to  religion;  the 
transition  from  the  classic  ideal  to  the  romantic, 
closely  paralleled  by  a  similar  change  in  literature 
and  painting;  the  rise  of  programme  music,  in- 
volving difficult  questions  concerning  the  nature 
and  scope  of  music's  expressive  power;  the  union 
of  music  and  poetry,  its  manner  and  effect;  the 
extraordinary  success  of  Wagner's  works,  and  the 
revolution  in  the  whole  theory  of  dramatic  music 
which  they  caused;  the  rapid  extension  of  musical 
study  throughout  Europe  and  America,  and  the 
effect  upon  taste  and  production;  the  transfer  of 
patronage  from  the  aristocracy  to  the  mixed  pub- 
lic; the  establishment  of  the  concert  system,  and 
the  multiplication  of  institutions  for  musical  exten- 
sion —  these  phenomena,  and  many  more  which 
might  engage  our  attention,  prove  that  music  as  an 
art  of  expression  reaches  far  beyond  one's  own 
private  experiences  and  predilections,  and  claims 
the  respect  of  every  one  who  concerns  himself 
with  the  interests  that  have  occupied  mankind 
from  age  to  age. 

Just  as  soon  as  the  mind  ranges  reflectively  over 
any  considerable  area  of  musical  history,  it  is  per- 
ceived that  music  has  been  subject  to  the  ebb  and 
flow  of  tendencies  which  offer  such  analogies  to 
certain  general  movements  in  the  intellectual  world 
that  it  would  be  impossible  to  consider  the  corre- 
spondence as  accidental.     While  it  would  be  in- 

I02 


MUSIC  IN  THE  COLLEGE 

exact  to  say  that  the  larger  currents  of  music  arc 
at  any  lime  constrained  by  any  particular  phenom- 
ena in  politics  or  literature  —  as.  for  example,  that 
the  tumult  in  Beethoven's  music  was  caused  by 
the  social  uj^hcavals  of  his  time,  or  that  the  roman- 
tic phase  of  music  was  a  result  of  tlic  romantic 
school  of  poetr> —  yet  the  analogies  between  cer- 
tain dominant  traits  in  musical  development  and 
contemjwrary  changes  in  other  fields  of  expression 
are  so  evident  that  it  would  be  just  as  unphil- 
osophical  to  declare  that  the  developments  of 
music  have  been  exclusively  due  to  its  own  inner 
necessities  of  growth  as  a  similar  assertion  would 
be  in  respect  to  any  other  historic  form  of  art  or 
literature.  The  truth  would  seem  to  be  that 
music  is  equally  sensitive  to  those  currents  which 
are  always  flowing  in  the  deeper  tracts  of  human 
consciousness;  and  when  they  come  to  the  sur- 
face, and  effect  those  transitions  which  distinguish 
ejxKh  from  epoch,  music,  like  every  other  form  of 
ideal  manifestation,  is  swayed  and  colored  by  them 
and  bears  its  o\%ti  witness  to  their  nature  and  ne- 
cessity. Thus  the  life  work  of  such  commanding 
geniuses  as  Beethoven  and  Wagner  cannot  be  ex- 
plained by  looking  at  the  p>ericxlic  progress  of  mu- 
sical art  consideretl  by  itself  alone.  Their  forms 
and  technique  might  possibly  be  so  explained,  al- 
though even  this  is  doubtful;  but  the  content  and 
spirit  of  their  wtirk.  the  ideas  which  they  consciously 
strove  to  impart,  the  direct  apfx-al  which  they  made 
to  the  sympathetic  comprehension  of  their  con- 

103 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

temporaries  —  these  %ere  a  response  of  delicately 
sensitive  intellects  to  a  stimulus  that  derived  much 
of  its  direction  from  their  intellectual  and  even 
their  physical  environment.  Even  their  forms  and 
technique  underwent  this  compulsion,  for  form  and 
technique  in  the  hands  of  a  great  artist  are  simply 
conveniences  nearest  at  hand  through  which,  as 
along  the  line  of  least  resistance,  his  impulses  move. 
Technique  and  form  are  not  implements  mechanic- 
ally fabricated  in  advance  of  the  feeling  to  be  con- 
veyed. In  the  early  days  of  counterpoint  doubt- 
less they  were  so,  but  not  since  the  period  —  we 
may  say  the  sixteenth  century  —  when  scientific 
music  first  became  aware  that  its  true  function  in 
life  was  expression.  An  artist  of  original  creative 
power  chooses  certain  forms  because  his  genius 
works  most  easily  by  means  of  them.  In  his  early 
days,  when  he  follows  his  models,  his  choice  of  form 
is  due  to  his  education,  but  not  when  he  attains 
maturity.  Then  he  commands  his  form  instead 
of  being  commanded  by  it.  Witness  the  manner 
in  which  Bach  and  Beethoven  played  with  the 
forms  of  fugue  and  sonata,  finding  in  them  freedom 
and  not  repression.  Not  even  the  fulness  of  time,  in- 
creasing the  appliances  of  music  and  expanding  its 
technical  range,  could  have  made  the  work  of  such 
men  as  Bach,  Gluck,  Beethoven,  Schubert,  Weber, 
Schumann,  Berlioz,  Wagner,  Liszt,  what  it  was,  if 
the  intellectual  and  social  milieu  had  been  different. 
They  were  not  merely  the  product  of  an  inevitable 
musical  evolution  —  they  were  the  product  of  their 
age,  and  witnesses  to  it. 

104 


MUSIC   IN   Tin:  COLLKGi: 

Not  only  arc  the  dominant  tendencies  of  a 
period  disclosed  in  the  work  of  tlie  nvxlern  tone 
masters,  but  also  the  cross  currents,  eddies,  and 
reactions,  as  in  the  creations  of  sucli  men  as 
Brahms  and  Mendelssohn.  The  nineteenth  cen- 
tury was  not  only  a  revolutionary  age.  endowed 
with  forward- reaching  energies  which  have  trans- 
formed the  very  aspect  of  civilization  as  well  as 
its  consciousness,  but  it  was  also  an  age  of  eclecti- 
cism, of  frequent  hesitations,  subject  to  seasons  of 
doubt  as  well  as  self-confidence,  individuals  and 
even  groups  often  seeking  refuge  amid  its  uncer- 
tainties in  convictions  where  rej>ose  seemeil  once 
to  have  been  attained.  Stability,  if  found  any- 
where, is  found  in  the  past,  in  institutions,  cus- 
toms, and  beliefs  that  have  acquired  a  semblance 
of  authority;  and  so.  in  an  age  conspicuously 
marked  by  individualism,  in  which  strong  minds 
demand  release  from  every  shackle  that  would 
impede  the  free  exercise  of  their  thought  and  action, 
fear  of  consequences  drives  others  to  less  adven- 
turous courses,  impelling  them  to  seek  the  comfort 
of  well-known  harbors  rather  than  the  dubious 
treasures  that  are  found  only  amid  the  p>eri!s  of 
uncharteii  seas.  Both  procedures,  however,  the 
radical  and  the  reactionary,  have  something  in 
common,  both  have  the  nineteen th-centur>'  stamp 
upon  them,  for  they  are  dictated  by  a  sense  of 
personal  liberty  and  resi)onsibility.  far  more  than 
was  the  case  in  former  epochs  when  the  individual 
was  more  subject  to  the  general  belief  and  custom 
of  his  community  or  class.    A  man  may  choose 

»o5 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

orthodoxy,  in  spite  of  a  strong  current  in  the  op- 
posite direction,  but  he  feels  himself  free  in  choos- 
ing it. 

This  rebellion  against  the  coercion  of  types,  so 
characteristic  of  all  departments  of  thought  in  the 
nineteenth  century,  is  strikingly  apparent  in  music, 
and  explains  the  greater  variety  and  force  of  the 
music  of  that  century  as  compared  with  the  music 
of  its  predecessor.  In  fact,  instead  of  music  being 
less  responsive  than  the  other  arts  to  encompassing 
spiritual  forces,  it  is,  when  comprehensively  studied, 
often  distinctly  more  so;  and  while  it  is  called  the 
modern  art  because  it  has  flowered  only  in  the 
past  four  hundred  years,  it  is  especially  entitled  to 
that  designation  because  of  its  flexibihty,  its  com- 
plexity, its  subtlety  of  expression  of  every  shade 
of  feeling,  the  readiness  of  its  attachment  to  ad- 
vancing ideas.  Even  from  the  merely  historic 
point  of  view,  therefore,  music  challenges  the  atten- 
tion of  the  historian  and  the  sociologist,  and  pro- 
pounds problems  which  require  a  grasp  and  an 
acumen  that  may  be  worthily  fostered  in  the  most 
austere  haunts  of  learning. 

VII 

In  proportion  as  art  in  its  development  acquires 
self-consciousness  and  technical  freedom,  interest 
is  more  and  more  concentrated  upon  the  Hves  and 
characters  of  representative  artists.  The  habit  of 
mind  fostered  by  the  scientific  spirit  of  our  day 

io6 


MUSIC   L\   THL  COLLEGK 

inclines  us  to  inquire  not  only  concerning  the  im- 
mediate elTect  of  a  work  of  art.  not  only  concern- 
ing the  elements  of  which  it  is  composed,  but  also 
how  it  came  to  be.  We  discover  that  the  works 
of  any  artist  of  the  first  rank  exhibit  qualities  that 
plainly  distinguish  them  from  the  productions  of 
others  —  that  each  has  what  we  call  his  individual 
style.  These  dilTcrcnces  of  style  are  not  super- 
ficial acquisitions,  but  are  inherent,  and  are  in- 
separably identified  with  dispositions  which  dis- 
tinguish the  artist  as  a  man  from  other  men. 
They  are  forms  of  expression  which  the  artist  can- 
not alter  by  any  amount  of  efTort;  they  are  iden- 
tified with  the  very  texture  and  tendency  of  his 
mind.  In  every  work  of  strong  individuality 
there  is  a  revelation  of  the  author's  self.  This  es- 
sential self  may  be  matle  manifest  after  the  work 
has  been  —  somewhat  mechanically  —  begun;  or 
the  spiritual  turmoil  may  come  first,  excited  by 
some  actual  experience  of  pleasure  or  pain  —  it 
does  not  matter,  the  work  is  the  expression  of  an 
antecedent  reality,  and  is  an  appeal  for  human 
sympathy.  At  once  there  is  a  sense  of  fellowship 
aroused  in  us,  and  so  far  as  we  are  capable  of  like 
experiences  (as  when  we  look  at  a  landscape-paint- 
ing, or  hear  a  poem  or  a  poignant  piece  of  music) 
the  love  for  the  work  passes  at  once  into  a  feeling 
of  companionship  with  the  known  or  unknown 
author.  We  cannot  evade  this  camaraderie ;  there 
are  no  others  with  whom  we  feel  more  closely  akin 
than  those  who  put  our  own  conscious  or  latent 
107 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

emotion  into  beautiful  form.  If  these  works  were 
not  embodiments  of  the  very  soul  of  their  creators, 
this  feeling  on  our  part  could  not  possibly  exist. 
In  every  true  work  of  art  a  virtue  lies  which  can- 
not be  explained  except  in  terms  of  human  ex- 
pression and  human  need. 

The  hfe  thus  revealed  is  not  the  life  of  an  artist 
disengaged  from  the  complete  life  of  a  man.  For 
man  is  a  unit,  not  a  jumble  of  unrelated  faculties, 
and  every  performance  of  his,  whether  of  high 
imagination  or  the  most  prosaic  routine,  is  regulated 
by  the  personality  that  is  distinctively  his  own. 
The  genius  and  the  experience  of  the  artist  may 
be  so  far  removed  from  any  consciousness  of  ours, 
his  language  may  be  so  difficult,  that  his  work 
seems  to  us  at  first  like  a  hieroglyphic  to  which  we 
have  no  key;  but  we  believe  that  if  the  barrier 
could  be  broken  we  should  discover  a  soul  suffi- 
ciently like  our  own  as  to  seem  neighborly  and 
companionable.  This  insatiable  craving  to  find 
the  man  behind  the  work  accounts  for  the  sadness 
we  feel  over  the  hopelessness  of  knowing  anything 
of  the  authors  of  the  Iliad  and  the  Book  of  Job. 
It  accounts  for  the  unwearied  persistence  which  for 
generation  after  generation  pursues  the  quest  for 
any  record  that  may  uncover  the  mystery  of  Shake- 
speare's Hfe,  and  reads  into  the  Sonnets  a  confes- 
sion that  brings  this  seemingly  supernatural  being 
down  nearer  to  our  earth. 

The  pursuit  of  signs  of  character  as  revealed  in 
works  of  the  imagination  presents  far  more  diffi- 

io8 


MUSIC   IN  THE   COLLEGE 

culty  in  music  than  in  rcprcsrntativc  art  or  poetry. 
In  tlic  case  of  ihe  latter  we  are  usually  able  to  go 
directly  from  the  work  to  the  artist;  in  the  case  of 
music  we  seek  first  after  external  evidences  and 
inteqjret  the  work  in  the  light  of  these.  The  cor- 
respondences between  music  and  event  or  disposi- 
tion are  not  obvious;  the  testimony  is  not  direct; 
we  must  employ  inferences  which  easily  go  astray 
into  sentimental  assumptions.  Stevenson's  re- 
mark that  every  work  of  art  is  conscious  of  a  back- 
ground no  doubt  applies  to  music,  but  here  the 
background  often  seems  lost  in  mists  and  shadows. 
So  uncertain  are  the  clews  that  one  school  of 
critics  refuses  to  fmd  in  music  any  indication  of 
character  outside  the  composer's  musical  genius, 
which  to  them  is  a  thing  apart;  while  others,  agree- 
ing that  music  is  a  personal  disclosure,  often  rad- 
ically disagree  in  their  interpretations.  Goethe 
once  said  that  every  poem  of  his  was  a  confession, 
and  such  we  may  easily  believe  was  often  the  case 
with  the  compositions  of  a  Beethoven,  a  Wagner, 
a  Chopin,  a  Tchaikovsky.  But  the  thing  con- 
fessed —  what  is  it  that  shows  the  "Sonata  Appas- 
sionata,"  "Parsifal."  the  "Polonaise  in  F  sharp 
minor,"  or  the  "Symphonic  pathetique"  to  be  a 
window  into  the  composer's  soul  and  not  simply 
a  piece  of  skilful  handicraft?  The  music  alone  is 
incapable  of  furnishing  the  evidence;  we  must  go 
outside  of  it  and  search  the  records  of  the  artist's 
life,  his  words,  the  testimony  of  his  contemporaries. 
We  must  also  match  works  with  one  another,  sum- 

109 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

marize  the  achievements  of  a  period  in  the  artist's 
career,  find  some  fibre  that  connects  his  inner  with 
his  outer  world,  identify  the  complex  interaction 
of  elements  that  makes  the  product  not  only  an 
expression  of  the  artist's  mood  but  also  represent- 
ative of  forces  that  acted  upon  him.  But  —  and 
here  is  the  essential  point  —  when  the  connection 
between  the  composition  and  the  artist's  life  is 
found,  then  the  music  appears  as  a  more  conclusive 
witness  to  his  essential  spiritual  nature  than  any 
other  evidence  whatever.  The  first  suggestion 
must  come  from  without,  but  compared  with  the 
searching  truth  of  the  music  it  is  only  partial  and 
provisional. 

In  all  our  attempts  to  fathom  the  real  significance 
of  music  we  are  thrown  back  upon  the  deeper  prob- 
lems of  personality.  Where  is  the  essential  hfe  of 
the  composer  to  be  found?  What  is  the  hidden 
mine  from  which  he  drew  the  jewels  of  his  melody  ? 
That  there  is  a  subconscious  region  in  which  their 
elements  He  hidden  is  beyond  question;  but  what 
were  the  forces  that  deposited  them  there  and  then 
moulded  them  into  form?  Was  there  a  hereditary 
influence  at  work,  and  if  so  when  did  it  begin? 
Does  it  reach  backward  to  the  first  ghmmering  of 
consciousness  upon  this  globe?  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  rudiments  of  these  sounding  forms  were 
coincident  with  the  artist's  own  separate  experi- 
ence, how  did  this  experience  act  ?  If  the  causative 
force  was  subconscious,  or  if  it  consisted  in  physical 
or  emotional  stimuli  coming  from  outside,  of  which 

no 


MUSIC  IN  TIIE  COLLEGE 

the  musician  was  aware  at  the  moment  —  in  either 
case  the  mystery  is  no  less;  for,  if  the  hitter  was  the 
fact,  what  was' the  alchemy  that  transmuted  the 
sensation  of  pleasure  or  pain  into  a  musical  phrase? 
WTicn  Mendelssohn,  on  the  occasion  of  his  visit  to 
the  Hebrides,  wrote  a  few  bars  of  music  in  a  letter 
to  a  friend,  "to  show  you  how  powerfully  the  place 
alTected  me,"  the  connection  between   the  scene 
and  the  music  was  real,  but  how  was  it  efTected? 
A  composer  reads  a  tale,  sees  a  landscape,  meets 
a  friend  —  at  once  melodies  and  harmonies  spring 
from  their  hiding-place  into  his  consciousness.   He 
writes  a  song  —  it  is  incorrect  to  say  that  he  tries 
to  imitate  or  represent  the  imagery  or  sentiment 
of  the  poem;    a  vivid  imi)ression  is  made  upon 
his  mind  and  something  comes  forth  that  is  a  mys- 
tical  paraphrase  in  tones  of  the  poet's   thought. 
With  Hugo  Wolf  this  transition  often  occurred  in 
the  hours  of  sleep  —  the  song  being  full-formed 
in  the  brain  on  waking  and  needing  only  to  be 
written  down;    with  Schubert  the  magic  formula 
was  pronounced  the  instant  the  verses  were  read, 
and  pTcsio  !  a  lovely  mcUxly  stepped  forth  complete. 
A  musician's  mind'  may  be  subject  for  a  long  time 
to  some  powerful  excitement,  as  Wagner,  Beethoven, 
and  Schumann  in  their  love-longings,  and  this  con- 
flagration in  the  soul  kindles  a  llame  in  the  music 
which  burns  in  us  also  as  we  hear  it.     There  was  a 
passionate  love  of  nature  in  Beethoven  which  was 
the  source  of  some  of  his  noblest  music.     "When 
I  am  in  the  fields,"  he  said,  "it  seems  as  though 

II I 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

every  tree  cried  Holy !  Holy  !  Holy ! "  Religious  faith 
and  patriotism  gave  Verdi's  "Requiem"  its  incom- 
parable splendor.  The  "  B  Minor  "  and  "  D  Major  " 
masses,  "The  Passion  According  to  St.  Matthew," 
"The  Beatitudes,"  "The  Dream  of  Gerontius"  — 
what  are  they  but  fragments  thrown  off  from  a 
larger  whole,  testifying  to  a  force  that  dominated 
the  very  life  of  their  creators  ?  We  call  music  sub- 
jective, abstract,  "an  appeal  to  the  sixth  sense  in 
terms  of  the  fourth  dimension,"  but  these  terms 
come  from  an  aesthetic  that  is  out  of  date,  or  at 
best  figurative  and  approximate.  The  ties  that 
bind  music  to  the  world  of  sense  and  experience 
are  invisible,  but  they  existed  from  the  beginning 
and  they  are  never  completely  severed.  Nothing 
can  come  from  nothing  —  music,  like  every  other 
activity,  is  life  movement  taking  a  special  form.  It 
is  response  to  stimulus.  This  stimulus  may  come 
from  a  musical  experience  —  Bach  often  played  the 
works  of  other  men  in  order  to  excite  his  own  in- 
vention —  but  the  shock  that  strikes  the  creative 
fire  may  come  from  one  of  an  innumerable  variety 
of  experiences.  Whatever  the  shock  may  be,  the 
result  is  moulded  and  colored  by  the  composer's 
own  spiritual  constitution,  which  also  changes  and 
develops  under  the  vicissitudes  of  his  life. 

The  laws  of  musical  composition  are  not  under- 
stood, but  we  are  coming  to  realize  that  there  are 
laws,  and  that  they  do  not  separate  the  musician 
from  his  fellow  men.  The  greatest  musician  is  he 
who  lives  most  amply  and  intensely.     He  speaks 

112 


MUSIC  IN  THE  COLLEGE 

to  us  through  his  art;  his  message  is  sincere  and 
we  get  more  of  life  by  reading  it.  Ah,  but  how 
diflicult  the  reading  is!  How  we  stammer  over 
his  phraseology,  and  in  despair  are  often  driven 
to  assert  that  the  communication  is  unintelligible 
because  it  means  nothing !  We  do  not  see  the 
truth,  that  the  musician's  language  is  a  universal 
human  language,  and  that  we  have  only  to  awaken 
faculties  that  are  latent  in  all  of  us  to  perceive  that 
the  message  is  its  own  interpreter. 

The  tone  masters  are  spokesmen  of  our  race,  and 
it  behooves  us  to  listen  to  their  prophecy.  No 
doubt  the  deeper  significance  of  their  speech  can 
only  be  intuitively  discerned,  and  in  this  we  are 
helped  in  our  own  experience  of  life,  which  will 
prepare  for  us  the  responsive  frame.  Only  he  who 
has  known  love  can  know  the  songs  of  Schumann. 
Vincent  dTndy's  word  is  as  true  for  the  hearer 
as  for  the  performer  when  he  asserts  that  no  one 
should  undertake  the  interpretation  of  the  "Sonata 
Appassionata  "  who  has  not  himself  sufTered.  No 
doubt  there  is  danger  of  pressing  these  correspond- 
ences too  far,  but  there  can  be  no  question  that 
we  receive  vast  aid  to  musical  comprehension  by 
studying  the  lives  of  those  who  have  manifestly 
put  their  rejoicing  or  sorrowing  hearts  into  their 
harmonies. 

VIII 

The  biographies  and  rccc^rded  utterances  of  the 
great  composers  are  alone  sufficient  to  refute  many 

113 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

of  the  current  shallow  notions  regarding  the  intel- 
lectual and  spiritual  content  of  the  art  they  glori- 
fied. The  value  of  art  is  a  recreative  value,  one 
says.  Art  is  an  outgrowth  and  a  higher  manifes- 
tation of  the  play  impulse,  says  another  —  the 
simulation  by  animals  and  undeveloped  men  of 
primitive  acts  that  were  useful  to  life,  "the  spon- 
taneous employment  of  forces  acquired  by  nutri- 
tion." "Hence  art  is  a  higher  form  of  play,  and, 
to  those  who  receive  it,  essentially  the  enjoyment 
attached  to  the  idle  contemplation  of  forms." 
From  this  point  of  view  the  aim  of  art  is  to  "treat 
reahty  as  a  spectacle,  real  objects  as  if  they  were 
images  of  themselves,  the  functions  of  life  as  if 
they  were  a  sport."  This  is  not  the  opinion  of  the 
artists,  who  may,  perhaps,  be  allowed  to  have  a 
word  in  the  matter.  "There  has  hardly  ever  been 
a  creative  artist  of  the  first  rank,"  says  Rudolph 
Eucken  (he  might  have  said  never),  "who  professed 
the  aesthetical  view  of  life,  for  such  a  one  cannot 
look  upon  art  as  a  separate  sphere  dissociated  from 
the  rest  of  Hfe;  he  must  put  his  whole  soul  into 
his  creation,  he  cannot  be  satisfied  with  mere  tech- 
nique, and  he  is  far  too  conscious  of  the  difficulties 
and  shortcomings  of  this  creation  to  make  it  a 
mere  matter  of  enjoyment.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  aesthetical  view  of  life  is  professed  not  so  much 
by  artists  themselves  as  by  dilettantists,  who  study 
art  from  the  outside,  and  often  enough  force  their 
theories  upon  the  artists,  who,  not  so  much  dis- 
posed to  abstract  discussion,  and  indeed  defense- 

114 


MUSIC   IN  THE  COLLEGE 

less  against  it,  hardly  realize  that  this  separation 
of  art  from  life  as  a  whole  docs  not  elevate  art  but 
degrades  it." 

Confirmations  of  this  statement  by  the  phi- 
losopher of  Jena  sprinj;  up  readily  in  the  mind  of 
any  one  who  is  at  all  conversant  with  the  history 
of  music.  "The  world  does  not  see,"  exclaimed 
Beethoven,  ''that  music  is  a  revelation,  sublimcr 
than  all  wisdom,  than  all  philosophy."  An  exag- 
gerated expression,  no  doubt,  the  words  of  a  fanatic 
perhaps,  but  they  give  no  help  to  the  "play  theory," 
or  tlie  thet^ry  of  passive  contemplation.  Handel, 
in  the  middle  of  the  century  which  held  almost 
universally  the  belief  that  music  existed  for  amuse- 
ment, rebuked  a  well-meant  compliment  to  the 
"entertainment"  which  his  music  had  given  the 
town  with  the  proud  confession:  "I  should  be 
sorry  if  I  only  entertained  them;  I  wish  to  make 
them  better."  And  when  he  was  writing  the 
"Hallelujah"  chorus  of  the  "Messiah"  he  thought 
he  saw  "heaven  open  and  the  great  God  himself." 

The  masters  of  music  have  been  leaders,  not 
followers,  of  the  aesthetic  movement  of  their  age; 
uplifting  the  taste  of  the  time,  not  subservient  to 
it;  the  sers-anLs  of  their  genius  and  the  truth  of 
art,  not  of  the  fickle  public;  devotees  of  an  ideal 
that  was  not  granted  to  their  contemporaries. 
The  reforms  of  Gluck  and  Wagner  were  in  a  real 
sense  moral  reforms;  the  purpose  was  so  lofty  that 
it  took  no  account  of  the  perils  that  confront 
every  one  who  defies  tlie  customs  and  settled  be- 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

liefs  of  the  day.  The  ruling  motive  of  Sebastian 
Bach  was  not  to  earn  his  salary  as  a  routine  choir- 
director,  but  to  achieve  perfection;  not  to  gain 
fame,  which  he  never  knew,  but  to  perform  true 
service  to  God  and  his  church.  The  annals  of 
music  abound  in  inspiriting  examples  of  austerity 
and  consecration.  In  every  period  one  finds  shin- 
ing instances  of  men  who  held  stoutly  to  truth  and 
noble  purpose  in  the  midst  of  every  temptation  to 
compromise,  suffering  privation,  obloquy,  and  the 
bitter  trials  of  defeated  hope  in  obedience  to  the 
higher  law  which  bade  them  use  their  powers  for 
the  good  of  their  fellow  men  and  not  for  emolu- 
ment. Art,  like  religion,  has  its  noble  army  of 
martyrs,  music  no  less  than  its  sister  arts,  and 
hardly  a  great  musician  has  been  spared  some 
measure  of  the  pain  which  the  world  is  ever  prone 
to  inflict  upon  its  benefactors. 

IX 

The  scrutiny  of  the  lives  of  the  great  composers, 
as  of  the  masters  in  the  other  arts,  suggests  in- 
quiry concerning  the  ethical  as  well  as  the  intel- 
lectual consequences  of  exclusive  occupation  in 
imaginative  creation.  This  phase  of  the  subject 
might  be  dismissed  as  irrelevant  on  the  ground 
that  inquisition  of  morals  is  inapplicable  to  any 
particular  class  or  profession  as  compared  with 
others,  were  it  not  for  the  fact  that  artists,  both 
creative  and  reproductive,  are  frequently  singled 

ii6 


MUSIC  IN  THE  COLLEGE 

out  by  a  certain  order  of  self-appointed  censors 
for  special  reprobation.     The  frequent  discussion 
of  the  connection  between  art  and  morality  im- 
plies that  their  spheres  naturally  unite,  or  ought 
to  do  so,  and  that  the  motto  noblesse  oblige  is  espe- 
cially applicable  to  artists,  who  represent  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world  an  agency  of  such  vast  powers  of 
instruction  and  inspiration.     It  is  certain  that  the 
members   of   the   artistic   professions   have   never 
claimed  exemption  from  the  ethical  requirements 
that  obtain  among  the  generality  of  mankind,  but 
at  the  same  time  they  have  never  admitted  that 
the  duties  oi  their  otVice  made  it  incumbent  upon 
them  to  pose  as  teachers  of  morals  and  religion. 
The  release  which  they  have  fmally  won  from  the 
overlordship  of  the  church  and  the  state  has  sim- 
ply consisted  in  the  assertion  of  a  privilege  that 
lies  in  the  very  nature  of  their  calling.     In  the  in- 
terest of  a  divine  right,  viz..  freedom  of  self-e.\pres-  ^ 
sion,  the  artist  is  his  own  spiritual  adviser,  and  he  1 
declares  that  the  obligation  to  be  true  to  the  idea 
which  strives  instinctively  for  realization  is  to  him 
the  one  supreme  law.     The  influence  of  his  work 
ui)on  others  and  their  judgment  upon  it  is  to  him 
a  matter  of  minor  concern,  and  the  man  who  is 
least  troubled  by  questions  of  the  moral  effect  of  a 
particular  work  of  art  is  the  man  who  produced  it. 
It  could  hardly  enter  his  mind  that  a  work  which 
he  knew  to  be  sincere  could  be  morally  injurious 
to  any  one.  for  it  is  a  j^rincifile  generally  to  be  ac- 
cepted that  tlic  moral  or  immoral  effect  of  a  work 
117 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

of  art  depends  upon  the  spirit  and  motive  of  its 
author  and  not  upon  the  subject  or  the  particular 
manner  of  technical  handhng.  The  influence  of  art 
does  not  lie  in  its  form  but  in  its  spirit,  and  the 
spirit  will  be  in  accord  with  that  of  its  creator,  and 
will  not  be  hidden  from  an  intelligent  observer. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  it  is  easy  for  the  artist 
to  lose  sight  of  certain  ethical  considerations  which, 
because  of  prejudice  or  conventional  habits  of 
thought,  may  intrude  upon  the  aesthetic  point  of 
view  in  the  case  of  an  observer  who  has  not  been 
trained  to  look  for  the  spirit  within  the  form. 
When  the  artist  conceives  his  idea,  and  when  he 
is  in  the  stress  of  executing  it,  he  is  absorbed  and 
isolated.  He  is  alone  with  his  vision;  he  does  not 
inquire  whence  the  vision  came;  it  is  to  him  good 
because  it  is  his  own.  He  inhabits  a  separate 
world,  of  which  he  is  (or  so  it  appears  to  him)  the 
creator.  His  only  conscious  motive  is  an  artistic 
one.  When  he  emerges  from  this  retreat  it  is  to 
enter  another,  and  his  whole  life  is  a  succession  of 
such  self-centred  experiences.  His  chief  conscious- 
ness is  one  of  free,  self-impelled  activity;  least  of 
all  does  he  feel  restraint  by  anything  outside  the 
laws  of  his  art. 

Every  strong,  compelling  force  in  human  nature 
tends  to  run  to  excess  by  losing  sight  of  counter- 
balancing considerations,  and  the  very  quality  of 
mind  that  produces  great  art  would  naturally  tend 
to  promote  a  disregard  of  the  prudences,  with  their 
side  glances  at  neighborhood  opinion,  which  make 

ii8 


MUSIC   IN   Tin-    COLLEGE 

up  so  much  of  ordinary  life.  "The  two  spheres 
[of  art  and  moralityl, "  siiys  Eucken,  "seem  to  place 
life  under  opposed  tasks  and  valuations.  Morality 
demands  a  subordination  to  universally  valid  laws; 
art  on  the  other  hand  desires  the  freest  develop- 
ment of  individuality.  Morality  speaks  with  the 
stern  voice  of  duty;  art  invites  the  free  play  of  all 
our  forces." 

It  is  not  strange  that  an  artist,  who  rightly  de- 
mands the  free  e.xercise  of  his  individual  genius, 
should,  when  placed  in  the  midst  of  a  philistine 
and  bourgeois  environment,  sometimes  carry  con- 
ceptions that  belong  to  art  over  into  social  rela- 
tions, and  convince  himself  that  the  unhampered 
activity  of  his  natural  inclination  in  one  field  is 
incompatible  with  constraint  in  the  other.  This 
instinctive  craving  for  liberty  on  all  sides,  permit- 
ting the  dominant  passion  for  artistic  independence 
to  overflow  into  the  domain  of  ethics,  explains  epi- 
sodes which  we  would  gladly  hide  in  the  lives  of 
such  men  as  Liszt,  Wagner,  and  Berlioz.  When 
we  perceive  similar  lapses  in  the  careers  of  a  con- 
siderable number  of  poets  and  novelists  in  the  same 
period,  particularly  in  I'raruc.  we  explain  them 
in  the  same  way  —  as  phenomena  to  be  expcctcM 
in  a  revolutionary  epoch  such  as  that  of  nineteentli- 
ccntury  French  romanticism,  where  license  is  the 
shaded  side  of  the  just  revolt  against  an  arbitrary 
tratlitionalism.  Any  one.  however,  who  should 
suppose  that  such  deflections  arc  characterisdc 
tendencies  in  the  life  devoted  to  art  would  show  a 
119 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

discreditable  ignorance  of  art  history.  Art  is  by 
no  means  prone  to  abuse  its  freedom;  in  fact, 
caution  and  respectful  deference  to  current  habits 
and  ideas  are  far  more  observable,  even  in  the  most 
brilliant  periods  of  art  development,  than  defiant 
self-assertion.  Art  is  more  inclined  to  steady  the 
better  tendencies  of  the  time  than  to  unsettle  them, 
and  this  applies  especially  to  the  field  of  ethics. 
Art  history  discloses  many  such  gratifying  spec- 
tacles as  that  of  the  Italian  Renaissance,  when  the 
artists  were  far  more  conspicuous  witnesses  to  the 
everlasting  principles  of  morality  than  the  poHtical 
leaders  or  even  the  princes  of  the  church.  Music 
shows  us  men  like  Beethoven  and  Handel,  stain- 
lessly pure  amid  fashionable  corruption;  men  like 
Schubert,  Weber,  Mendelssohn,  Schumann,  Grieg, 
and  many  others  of  the  Romantic  period,  leading 
domestic  lives  of  an  almost  commonplace  simplicity 
amid  the  emotional  excitements  and  social  rival- 
ries of  their  calling;  men  like  Palestrina,  Bach,  and 
Franck  laying  their  vast  powers  humbly  before 
the  throne  of  the  God  whom  they  served  through 
the  ministry  of  his  visible  church;  groups  of  men, 
more  obscure  but  not  less  heroic,  such  as  the  or- 
ganists and  cantors  of  the  German  Protestant 
Church  in  the  seventeenth  century,  who  kept 
bright  the  pure  flame  of  art  and  piety  amid  the 
frightful  demoralizations  of  the  Thirty  Years' 
War.  Not  less  striking  is  the  superiority  of  the 
motives  of  many  of  the  composers  of  the  seven- 
teenth  and   eighteenth   centuries   in   all   western 

1 20 


MUSIC  IN   Tin:   COLLEGE 

Europe  to  Uic  shallow  ideals  of  the  fashionable  so- 
ciety uj>on  whose  palronaRc  music  in  that  period 
was  forced  almost  wholly  to  depend. 

But  why  all   this  pother  over  the  conduct  of 
artists,  and  the  imaginary  conflict  between  art  and 
morality?     Where  is  the  real  man  to  be  found  if 
not  in  his  art,  the  master  passion  of  his  soul?     Is 
the  real  Beethoven  in  his  rough  jokes  and  his  quar- 
rels with  his  landladies,  or  in  the  "Ninth  Sym- 
phony" and   the   "Missa  Solemnis"?     Wagner's 
life  shows  us  much  that  is  petty  and  ignoble,  but 
did  "Lohengrin,"  and  "The  Ring  of  the  Nibelung," 
and  "Tristan  und  Isolde,"  and  "The  Mastersingers 
of  Nuremberg."  and  "Parsifal"  come  from  a  mean 
and  corrupt  source?     Have  the  masters  of  music 
been  lovers  and  servants  of  their  kind,  or  egotistic 
exploiters  of  tlieir  fellow  men  ?     When  we  sum  up 
the  whole  question,  is  not  Guyau  correct  in  his  be- 
lief that  great  art  results  from  living  the  life  of  all 
beings  and  expressing  this  life  by  means  of  ele- 
ments borrowed  from  reality?     "The  great  artist 
is  not  he  who  contemplates;  it  is  he  who  loves  and 
who  communicates  his  love  to  others."     Kucken 
sums  up  the  whole  question  of  the  relation  of  art 
to  morality  when  he  says,  reviewing  the  history  of 
the  apparent  discrepancy  between  these  two  si)heres 
of  human  life:   "Morality  was  able  to  escape  the 
danger  of  becoming  rigid  and  superficial  only  by 
entering  into  wider  relationships.     When  the  move- 
ment took  place,  however,  in  so  far  as  it  led  toward 
the  appropriation  of  a  new  reality,  and  in  so  far 

121 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

as  it  came  to  mean  not  merely  the  correct  fulfil- 
ment of  command  but  an  inward  renewal  of  man, 
a  progress  toward  newness  of  life,  it  found  art  ab- 
solutely indispensable;  for  this  new  matter  could 
not  be  comprehended  as  a  whole,  and  become  really 
present  and  alive,  without  the  assistance  of  artistic 
activity;  nor  could  it  become  really  universal  in 
the  absence  of  the  constructive  labor  of  art,  weav- 
ing inward  and  outward  together.  When  the  great 
object  is  to  attain  to  a  new  world  and  a  new  life, 
to  rise  above  the  petty  aims  of  the  mere  man  and 
mere  every-day  life,  then  art,  with  its  quiet  and  sure 
labor  conditioned  by  the  inner  necessities  of  things, 
with  its  inner  liberation  of  the  soul,  and  with  its 
power  to  bring  the  whole  infinitude  of  being  in- 
wardly near  to  us,  and  to  make  it  part  of  our  own 
life,  must  be  directly  reckoned  as  moral." 

X 

In  view  of  these  considerations,  inferred  from 
the  impressions  given  by  great  musical  works  and 
from  the  statements  of  the  composers  in  regard  to 
the  principles  that  actuated  them,  we  cannot  fail 
to  find  a  profound  significance  in  the  fact  of  the 
supreme  development  of  music  in  such  a  century 
as  the  nineteenth.  For  here  we  have  a  period  dis- 
tinguished, beyond  all  that  have  preceded,  for  sci- 
entific research,  for  the  practical  application  of 
scientific  discovery  to  every  convenience  of  life, 
for  enormous  expansion  of  industry  and  commerce, 

122 


Misic  IX  Tin-:  c(jlli:ge 

for  prodigious  accumulation  of  material  goo<ls.  for 
the  passionate  assertion  of  the  sulViciency  of  visible 
nature  to  supply  the  urgent  needs  of  mankind. 
The  result  of  such  ambitions  and  the  enormous 
rewards  that  have  follo\ved  labor  and  enterprise 
would  be,  we  might  suppose,  a  submergence  of  the 
spiritual  consciousness,  a  check  to  the  purer  ideal- 
isms, involving  the  i)rogressive  atrophy  of  those 
desires  which  the  religions  have  held  as  witnesses 
to  the   true  needs  and   possibilities  of  the  soul. 
And  yet  it  has  not  been  so.     There  has  never  been 
a  time  when  the  cravings  of  the  spirit  were  more 
apparent,  or  the  evidence  more  distinct  that  the 
attainment  of  material  power  cannot  satisfy  the 
most   insistent  longings  of  human   nature.     The 
several  forms  of  art  have  no  doubt  been  greatly 
afTected  by  certain  .special  requirements  of  an  in- 
dustrial age;    commercialism   has  deflected   taste 
into  channels  marked  out  by  its  own  requirements, 
and  here  and  there  the  elTect  is  seen  in  tendencies 
toward  sheer  ostentation  and  vulgarity.    Even  mu- 
sic  has   not  escaped   such  unfavorable  inllucnce; 
but  the  powerful  upUil  in  music  upon  the  subjec- 
tive, personally  emotional  side,  together  with  a  re- 
newed outburst  of  creative  power  in  painting  and 
sculpture,  the  recent  revival  of  poetrv.  including 
poetry  of  an  inward,  mystical  type  —  all  this  forms 
a  counterbalance  which  renews  the  hope  that  it 
will  apiK-ar  in  the  future  as  well  as  in  the  past  that 
man  will  not,  for  any  great  length  of  time,  lose 
sight  of  those  spiritual  forces  which  must,  if  any, 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

prove  his  ultimate  salvation.  Let  it  not  be  thought 
extravagant  to  say  that  the  great  composers  of  the 
nineteenth  century  are  as  truly  the  exponents  of 
its  character  as  the  scientific  discoverers  or  the 
captains  of  industry. 

XI 

When  we  turn  our  attention  away  from  historic 
and  biographical  considerations  and  listen,  as  we 
commonly  do  in  opera-house  and  concert  hall,  to 
musical  works  for  the  immediate  and  direct  enjoy- 
ment of  something  in  itself  sufficiently  beautiful, 
we  easily  discover  that  even  here  intelligence  has 
a  serviceable  part  to  play,  and  that  the  permanence, 
and  even  the  keenness,  of  our  satisfaction  is  con- 
nected with  our  antecedent  state  of  preparation. 
Through  instruction  we  are  brought  to  the  appre- 
ciation of  music  as  a  fine  art  rather  than  an  aim- 
less flow  of  unrelated  sounds.  In  music,  as  well 
as  in  poetry,  we  look  before  and  after;  the  impres- 
sion of  an  instant  has  no  point  except  as  it  is  re- 
lated to  previous  impressions  and  excites  an  ex- 
pectancy of  impressions  to  follow.  It  is  the  be- 
fore and  after  that  gives  each  tone  its  life  and 
meaning.  As  the  composer  thinks  in  relations, 
so  the  listener  must  hear  in  relations.  The  ability 
thus  to  gather  the  parts  into  a  coherent  whole 
comes  with  experience  and  knowledge;  there  is  a 
period  in  the  life  of  a  child  when  he  cannot  grasp 
even  the  simplest  melody  as  a  whole;  and  the 
124 


MUSIC   IN  THE  COLLEGE 

adult  cannot  apprehend  a  complex  form  as  a  work 
of  art  and  Rrasp  the  comjKJSfr's  intention  unless 
he  knows  how  to  direct  his  obscr\ation  and  co- 
ordinate his  perceptions.  The  keenest  natural  sen- 
sibility to  music's  sjkII  will  carry  one  but  a  little, 
way  without  some  knowledge  of  the  principles  of 
musical  design.  The  study  of  those  principles 
transforms  the  heetlless  amateur  into  a  connois- 
seur; with  tlie  ability  to  trace  the  fluid  organiza- 
tion of  harmony  and  form,  there  is  disclosed  to 
him  a  plastic  jxjwer  in  the  comjxjscr's  material 
which  i>ermits  an  endless  variety  of  interesting 
texture,  and  enables  him  to  acquire  the  concep- 
tion of  unity  as  the  aim  of  variety,  of  clear-sighted 
contrivance,  of  the  adaptation  of  means  to  aesthetic 
ends.  The  ability  to  recognize  details  as  parts  of 
a  still  more  beautiful  whole  —  one  of  the  essen- 
tials of  a  cultivated  mind  —  is  cfTt*ctually  pro- 
moted by  the  analysis  of  musical  works.  If  in  a 
ballet  dance  the  enjoyment  of  the  s{>ectator  is 
increased,  as  we  are  assured  by  its  sup|x>rters.  by 
some  knowledge  of  its  technique,  how  much  more 
must  this  l>c  the  case  in  the  art  of  music.  In  the 
swift  succession  of  the  tonal  factors  a  constant  tax 
is  imposeti  uj>on  the  memory  in  the  adjustment  of 
departed  to  immtnliate  sensations.  Not  only  tliis, 
but  each  instant's  perception  is  comjxjund,  in- 
cluding relations  of  pitch,  volume,  and  timbre,  each 
part  flexible  as  it  swa>*s  under  the  jiressure  of 
rhythm,  and  yet  only  to  be  evaluate*!,  like  a  figure 
in  a  tapestry,  as  it  combines  with  other  components 

»^5 


UVSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

of  the  design.  To  clear  one's  path  through  these 
shifting  entanglements,  and  follow  the  law  that 
directs  each  and  the  law  that  binds  them  into 
unity,  is  to  impose  a  task  upon  the  mind  which 
can  be  accompHshed  only  through  preliminary 
study,  reinforced  by  a  concentration  of  attention 
which  many  persons,  even  with  the  best  of  will, 
find  almost  painful  to  sustain  for  any  considerable 
length  of  time.  The  discipline  involved,  for  in- 
stance, on  the  part  of  a  conscientious  musical  critic, 
who  must  give  to  his  readers  in  the  morning  a 
judgment  upon  a  complex  composition  heard  for 
the  first  time  the  evenmg  before,  can  with  difficulty 
be  imagined  by  one  who  hears  music  in  that  languid, 
passive  manner  that  is  the  utmost  of  which  many 
concert  habitues  are  capable.  The  hearing  that 
really  hears  is  emphatically  an  active  exercise,  for 
it  reaches  out  and  seizes  the  swiftly  flying  webs  of 
sound  and  holds  them  tenaciously  for  inspection. 
With  this  process  there  comes  a  mental  provoca- 
tion that  is  peculiarly  invigorating  —  not  merely 
the  invigoration  that  attends  every  healthful  ex- 
ercise of  faculty,  but  a  lasting  enrichment  of  men- 
tal treasure  —  the  conviction  that  one  is  in  pos- 
session of  something  alive  as  well  as  beautiful, 
something  substantial,  not  subject  to  decay. 

In  the  scientific,  theoretical  divisions  of  musical 
art  there  appear  fields  for  the  exercise  of  the  most 
active  intellectual  powers.  In  acoustics,  physi- 
ology, tonality,  harmony,  counterpoint,  form,  in- 
strumentation, orchestration,  composition,  the  most 

126 


MUSIC  IN  THE  COLLEGE 

indefatigable  scholarship  may  find  ample  scope  for 
its  cncrg)',  not  only  in  the  way  of  invcsti^ati«)n 
leading  to  further  knowlcilgc,  but  also  in  the  anal- 
ysis and  compamon  which  constitute  a  rational 
basb  for  exact  and  comprehensive  criticism. 

XII 

Still  farther  must  we  proceed  in  our  estimate  of 
the  function  which  music  performs  in  the  life  of 
culture.     The   gr  n    that   arises   from    the 

analysis  of  the  \n  i  properties  which  music 

exhibits  as  an  art  of  form,  must  be  supplemented 
by  more  inward  antl  sf>ontaneous  reactions  if  mu- 
sic Is  to  fulfil  the  higher  ends  of  art.  The  fmal 
appeal  of  music  is  to  the  emotional  nature,  and  its 
^       '  '  '  ition  to  the  heart  of  man  is  that 

i'  tlet  for  hLs  tenderest  feelings,  ami 

b  capable  of  producing  a  keenness  of  ecstasy  that 
is  l>cyond  the  reach  of  any  other  artistic  agciu  \ . 
In  this  latter  (juality  hes  not  only  its  glory  but  .il>-» 
its  danger.  If  musical  indulgence  lulls  the  strong 
f  '  '  to  sleep,  if  it  stirs  f<  "  '  *  shallow 
V  ie,  if  it  makes  one  i  i  in  the 

performance  of  daily  duly,  then  whatever  its  fas- 
t'  it  cannot  be  held  a^  '  '       ^    '  my 

o  >up|)oscs  that  such  d<  .irr 

inherent  in  the  very  nature  of  music  has  been  very 
unfortunate  in  hi^  '       '        ' 

thing  wrong  in  li     ;  .    .        ' 

question  that  music  —  rightly  pursued,  be  it  ob- 
1^7 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

served  —  is  an  efficient  agent  in  the  fortifying  of 
the  higher  sentiment,  the  development  of  the  clari- 
fying, upHfting  emotions.  The  secret  Hes  in  the 
selection  for  companionship  of  works  that  are  the 
product  of  strong,  sincere  feeling,  earnest  purpose, 
and  unyielding  will.  From  such  works  comes  a 
shock  that  vitalizes  while  it  disturbs.  Our  busi- 
ness is,  by  the  intelligent  use  of  the  means  at  hand, 
to  open  channels  through  which  the  spirit  of  the 
masters  may  flow  into  our  own  without  impediment. 
Right  here  lies  the  chief  worth  of  association 
with  great  works  of  art :  they  are  emanations  from 
the  intellect  that  produced  them,  the  virtue  that 
goes  out  of  them  is  one  that  was  merely  trans- 
mitted, they  draw  us  into  a  charmed  circle  where  a 
strong  intellectual  force  is  dominant.  A  work  of 
art  is  great  just  as  there  is  a  quality  of  greatness 
in  its  creator.  When  we  survey  a  picture  by  Rem- 
brandt or  Millet,  a  statue  by  Michelangelo,  or  hear 
a  symphony  by  Beethoven  we  are  brought  into 
contact  with  a  heroic  personality,  and  our  glad  re- 
sponse is  an  evidence  that  we  also  have  something 
heroic  within  us.  These  strong  elements  of  hfe 
being  put  into  distinct  concrete  form,  they  are 
enabled  to  act  upon  us  directly;  we  recognize  them 
as  something  suited  to  our  need;  we  appropriate 
them  and  our  spirits  receive  a  new  accession  of 
strength.  It  is  impossible  to  escape  this  influence, 
and  the  more  we  exercise  ourselves  upon  life's 
problems  the  more  we  are  indebted  to  these  great 
spokesmen  of  humanity.     It  is  in  view  of  this  fact 

128 


MUSIC  IN  THE  COLLKGE 

that  a  mfxlcrn  writer  has  dcclarcti  that  "the  poet, 
the  artist,  the  seer  arc  the  men  who,  more  than  the 
professional  j)hilosophers.  have  preserved  alive  tin* 
inmost  soul  of  humanity." 

It  is  not  t»K)  much  to  claim  for  the  art  of  music 
that  it  conveys  messaj^es  drawn  from  the  very 
sources  of  emotional  life  and  character  with  even 
greater  force  than  the  representative  arts.  It  is, 
indeed,  tlie  highest  function  of  representative  art 
to  convey  general  ideas  whose  profit  is  that  they 
enri(  h  frcliiiij  rather  than  add  to  knowkxlge  —  St. 
G  iuilen-s\  >lalues  of  Lincoln  and  Sherman,  for  ex- 
ami)le.  deriving  only  a  minor  interest  from  accu- 
racy of  ix)rtraiture;  toiling  humanity  passes  before 
us  in  the  rhythmic  movement  of  Millet's  Sower  — 
yet  it  is  in  music  that  the  splendor  and  pathos  of 
life  find  their  most  unobstructetl  path  to  the  sym- 
pathetic imagination.  The  profoundest  commen- 
tators upon  Beethoven  —  Wagner,  Holland,  d'Indy, 
Combarieu  —  put  this  conception  of  the  composer 
as  hero  into  the  forefront  of  their  inteqirelation 
of  his  work,  and  for  the  same  reason  treat  him  as 
thr  t)pical  nnHlern  musician.  That  the  qualities 
which  music  symlx)lizcs  are  abstracletl  from  imme- 
diate locality  and  incident  seems  a  gain  rather  than 
a  loss.  It  is  a  common  e.xix*rience  that  ideas  that 
arc  fundamental  and  especially  |Knetrating  arc 
often  im()artc<l  most  conclusively  by  means  that 
stir  t'  '>y  indirtvtion.  as  in  noble  build- 

ings .^  lis  tt)  great  men  and  momentous 

achicvcmaits  —  Gothic   cathedrals,    for   example, 

1J9 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

surpassing  all  possible  didactic  agencies  in  the  com- 
pelling majesty  by  which  they  impress  the  mind 
with  a  sense  of  the  nearness  and  wonder  of  the  in- 
visible world.  In  architecture,  in  music,  in  every 
process  by  which  the  rehance  is  upon  symbolism 
rather  than  upon  imitation,  the  peculiar  effect  is 
due  to  associations  gathered  from  a  multitude  of 
impressions,  inherited  and  acquired.  With  the 
mind  open  to  such  influences,  knowing  that  the 
forms  and  colors  of  music  are  not  mere  mechanism 
ingeniously  devised  for  play,  but  a  congenial  me- 
dium for  the  gratification  of  a  spiritual  need,  then 
they  come  to  us  as  tidings  from  a  kindred  mind  — 
we  feel  the  touch  of  a  comrade's  hand,  we  hear  in 
the  harmonies  the  sound  of  his  voice. 

Back  of  all  this  there  is  still  another  mystery, 
for  the  composer  draws  inspiration  from  a  source 
that  is  not  confined  to  his  own  experience  and 
escapes  the  control  of  his  will.  Beyond  the  indi- 
vidual attributes  which  can,  to  some  extent  at 
least,  be  diflercntiated,  as  when  we  compare  one 
composer's  style  with  that  of  another,  there  is 
something  which  transcends  all  explanation,  which 
analysis  cannot  reach  or  theories  explore,  an  im- 
pulse which  may  be  likened  to  a  great  tide  flowing 
from  the  boundless  deeps  of  universal  Being,  which, 
making  its  way  through  countless  channels,  reveals 
a  part  of  itself  to  our  senses  and  understanding. 
The  deeper  part,  the  fmal  source  of  its  vitality,  is 
not  so  revealed;  if  known  at  all  it  is  recognized 
only  by  our  instincts  and  intuitions. 

130 


MUSIC  L\  THE  COLLEGE 

XIII 

Such  an  art  as  this  is  no  vain  or  shallow  thing. 
It  has  proved  its  necessity  by  scr\-ing  as  an  inevi- 
table a'  it  to  every  manilVstalion  of  the 
social  (  from  the  dawn  of  history  until 
now.  One  must  obscr\'e  also  that  music  has  a 
creative  as  well  as  an  expressive  power  in  resp>ect 
to  ideas  and  feelings.  The  author  of  The  Golden 
Bough  makes  no  unwarranted  claim  when  he  as- 
serts that  "this,  the  most  intimate  and  affecting 
of  the  arts,  has  done  much  to  create  as  well  as  to 
express  religious  emotion,  thus  modifying  more  or 
lcs><  '  ■  ■  fabric  of  belief."  Similar  are  the 
rca*  .-d  by  music  nyyon  patriotism,  the 
love  of  the  sexes,  humanitarian  impulses,  and  all 
the  instincts.  |>;issions.  and  determinations  of 
which  music  is  able  to  take  cognizance.  The  prin- 
ciple so  emphasized  by  modem  jjsycholog)*  —  that 
what  we  are  dejK'nds  to  a  great  e.xtcnt  on  what 
we  do,  that  every  e.\pressi<jn  modifies  llie  nature 
that  expresses  —  applies  to  communities  and  races 
as  well  as  to  in  ""  T;  *  jning  as  the  over- 
flow of  simple  t:  when  every  mani- 
festation of  mood  was  crude  and  childish,  employed 
also  for  i.in  puqxjses  without  any  recogni- 
tion of  .!  \aluc.  music  has  been  continuously 
subject  to  the  action  of  the  reflective  reason,  culti- 
vated for  joy  in  ■  ■  "  "■  r  the  con- 
trol of  law.  or.;  ^  which  re- 
acted upon  the  primordial  impulse  by  affording  it 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER   EDUCATION 

a  means  for  freer  movement;  until  at  last,  while 
still  bringing  to  human  sensibility  the  strongest 
stimulus  attainable  by  art,  music  is  so  regulated 
by  scientific  procedure,  so  buttressed  by  method 
and  precedent,  that  the  excitements  of  raw  emo- 
tionalism are  made  to  yield  to  the  higher  aesthetic 
satisfactions. 

These  self-conscious  forces,  shaping  the  impul- 
sive currents  of  tone  into  permanent  artistic  forms, 
do  not,  however,  lay  any  fetters  upon  the  free  ex- 
pansion of  music's  expressive  energy.  As  it  has 
kept  pace  with  all  the  changes  in  social  conscious- 
ness and  institutional  forms  that  are  capable  of 
co-operation  with  so  delicate  a  vehicle,  reflecting 
the  shifting  moods  that  result  from  such  changes, 
so  it  will  continue  to  do  in  spite  of  the  hindrances 
of  conservatism.  There  is  as  yet  no  apparent  limit 
to  the  adaptability  of  music  to  certain  constant 
demands  of  the  spiritual  nature.  In  spite  of  its 
magnificent  achievements  music  is  still  in  the  ex- 
perimental stage.  The  turmoil  in  the  musical 
world  to-day  arises  from  the  conviction  that  there 
are  untraversed  fields  of  expression  still  lying  open 
before  it.  Its  tendency  is  to  ally  itself  still  more 
intimately  with  the  forward  movements  in  art  and 
literature,  and  to  derive  new  forms  and  colors  from 
their  suggestion.  Music  is  even  more  flexible  in 
its  adjustments  than  the  other  arts,  which  are  re- 
strained by  their  representative  or  utilitarian  func- 
tions. For  in  music  the  mood  is  full  master  in 
conditioning  the  design  and  color,  and  neither  ex- 

132 


MUSIC  m  THE  COLLEGE 

tcmal  nature  nor  past  usage  has  the  right  to  set 
limits  to  its  extension.  The  lessons  derived  from 
the  history  and  psychology  of  music  arc  demon- 
strations of  tlie  mutual  dei)ondcncc  of  music  and 
life,  and  they  offer  to  the  serious  student  assurance 
of  rich  stores  of  instruction  in  the  time  to  come. 

Here,  then,  is  the  cretlenlial  which  music  pre- 
sents to  the  college  and  university  as  it  proudly 
taks  the  rights  of  domicile.     T  of  its  aesthetic 

value  as  an  art  of  form.  il,s  -  >  c  as  an  inter- 

pretation of  life,  its  refining  touch  upon  the  emo- 
tional nature,  and  the  means  it  affords  for  the  cul- 
ture of  imjxjrtant  elements  of  character,  the  old 
neglect  must  be  no  longer  suffered,  and  thejcad.- 
crship  in  musical  education  on  the  intcqiretativc 
and  appreciative  side  must  be  assumcxl  by  those 
institutions  whose  very  circumstances  and  prestige 
enable  them  to  place  such  education  upon  solid 
intellectual  foundations. 


«33 


PART  III 

TEACHER  AND   CRITIC:    HIS  PREPARA- 
TION AND   HIS  METHOD 


Accepting  to  the  full  the  lessons  which  the  his- 
tory of  art  teaches  us  in  regard  to  its  function  in 
the  development  of  civilization,  there  can  be  no 
reasonable  hesitation  in  according  to  art  an  hon- 
orable station  in  the  college  curriculum.  The  ques- 
tion is  no  longer  concerning  the  existence  of  art 
in  the  college  on  some  kind  of  terms  —  for  no  in- 
stitution of  learning  rejects  it  altogether  —  but 
what  the  nature  of  those  terms  shall  be.  Shall  the 
college  be  content  with  fine  architecture  while  giv- 
ing its  students  no  instruction  in  regard  to  the 
reasons  for  its  excellence;  with  occasional  concerts 
and  dramatic  performances  as  a  mere  transient 
means  of  mental  recreation;  with  a  miscellaneous 
collection  of  art  objects  which  few  ever  visit,  and 
the  nature  of  whose  value  an  interested  student  is 
left  to  find  out  for  himself?  Or  shall  the  college 
draw  these  agencies  into  close  union  with  its  meth- 
odical classroom  instruction,  showing  its  students 

134 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

bow  to  judge  a.s  well  as  feel,  and  to  develop  a  taste 
based  on  correct  principles? 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  hesitation  to  give 
full  privilege  to  a.*sthetic  interests  acts  more  ob- 
structively in  the  case  of  music  than  it  does  in 
respect  to  plxslic  art.  partly  because  its  less  obvi- 
ous relation  to  actual  life,  and  its  preilominant 
appeal  to  the  senses  and  vague  elemental  sensibil- 
ity, make  the  neci'ssity  for  cihjI  analytic  procc<lurc 
in  the  attainment  of  its  appreciation  less  apparent. 
Even  where  the  neetl  of  fme  examples  is  recognized, 
it  seems  roniinonly  taken  for  grantcil  that  the 
hearing  of  choitc  music  and  go<Kl  jxTformance  is 
sufTicicnt.  Even  those  who  value  the  presence  of 
music  in  their  lives  are  prone  to  assume  that  mu- 
sical l)cauty  must  inevitably  be  its  own  witness, 
exercising  as  complete  a  command  over  the  spirit 
as  the  iKMuty  c)f  sunshine  and  sky  and  verdure, 
which  neols  no  argument  or  analysis,  but  sets  the 
heart  alremble  with  ecstasy  when  June  takes  the 
eart'  But  even  this  com- 

pari  ..        ig  it  legitimate,  breaks 

down  when  one  considers  that  even  the  beauty  of 
nature  »  r  l>e  full;  with<»ut  the  exer- 

cise of  (  ~  active  i;  i>  c.     There  are  re- 

sources of  culture  in  the  study  of  the  picturesque 
aspects  of  the  world  w'  "  '    "  .ver  yet  been 

recognized  by  profession  Not  one  in 

a  hundrcti  of  those  who  call  themselves  lovers  of 
nature  really  xf  what  '  '  them.  The  col- 
leges niight  to  good  atl\      ^.     idd  courses  in  the 

135 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

appreciation  of  nature,  with  John  C.  Van  Dyke's 
Nature  for  Her  Own  Sake  for  a  text-book,  and 
the  writings  of  Ruskin,  Thoreau,  JefTeries,  and 
"Fiona  Macleod"  for  required  reading.  What 
many  people  call  a  love  of  nature  is  often  hardly 
more  than  a  sense  of  bodily  comfort  under  pleas- 
ant atmospheric  conditions,  or  delight  in  physical 
action  quickened  by  external  stimulus;  but  as  a 
Wordsworth  or  Thoreau  uses  the  term,  or  as  a 
Corot  or  an  Inness  feels  it,  it  is  the  result  of  edu- 
cation. The  difference  between  a  native  Samoan 
and  Winslow  Homer  in  the  love  of  the  sea,  or  be- 
tween a  Swiss  peasant  and  John  Ruskin  in  face  of 
the  mountain  gloom  and  glory,  is  simply  a  dififer- 
ence  in  culture.  The  "noble  red  man,"  contrary 
to  a  general  impression,  has  no  real  love  of  nature; 
the  most  sensitive  child  sees  but  little  in  comparison 
with  the  revelation  that  will  be  granted  him  with 
his  further  intellectual  development.  We  see  not 
with  our  eyes  but  with  our  minds.  There  are  as- 
tonishing revelations  of  natural  beauty  of  color  and 
form  to  one  who  reads  the  writings  of  the  vision- 
maimed  Lafcadio  Ream.  The  landscape  artist 
is  learning  all  his  life  not  merely  to  paint  but  to 
see.  Most  of  us  are  not  much  more  than  children 
in  the  trained  use  of  our  senses,  and  we  should  be 
able  to  profit  greatly  by  the  instruction  of  those 
who  have  learned  the  secret  of  true  vision.  We 
see  what  we  have  been  taught  to  see.  The  man 
who  has  long  enjoyed  the  companionship  of  the 
poets  and  painters  of  nature  will  sec  with  their 

136 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

eyes  as  well  as  think  in  terms  of  their  philosophy. 
After  a  course  in  Thoreau's  "Journals"  he  will 
wonder  at  his  former  blindness,  and  the  "Modern 
Painters"  will  endow  him  with  new  senses.  The 
gain  from  the  study  of  the  visible  aspects  of  nature 
with  the  help  of  the  great  artists  is  immense,  for 
we  learn  that  here  also  the  richness  of  the  result 
is  proportioned  to  the  degree  of  attention,  com- 
parison, and  reflection  which  we  bring  actively  to 
bear. 

II 

If  we  profit  by  the  experience  of  others  in  attain- 
ing an  intelligent  love  of  nature,  how  much  more 
in  the  appreciation  of  art !  To  him  who  is  not  in- 
structed, but  yet  has  an  inborn  capacity  to  feel, 
art  too  often  leaves  impressions  of  pleasure  which 
are  vague  and  unsystematized,  impressions  that 
quickly  fade  and  fail  permanently  to  enrich  the 
understanding.  As  art  is  not  the  product  of  crude 
emotion,  but  Hves  only  as  trained  intelligence  and 
stern  power  of  will  meet  in  its  creation,  so  its  pur- 
pose is  not  fulfilled  in  the  case  of  one  who  does  not 
bring  reflective  understanding  to  its  estimate.  A 
thrill  of  pleasure  which  does  not  measure  and  com- 
pare, but  finds  its  end  in  itself,  is  an  experience  that 
is  delightful  and  pure,  but  does  not  enable  its  pos- 
sessor to  profit  more  by  the  next  experience.  He 
may  indeed  grow  more  sensitive  with  the  repetition 
of  nervous  and  emotional  excitements,  but  the  self- 
knowledge  that  is  essential  to  intellectual  progress 

137 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

is  not  materially  increased.  A  true  lover  of  art, 
in  fact,  will  not  frequent  picture-galleries  and  con- 
cert halls  without  taking  pains  to  meet  their  friendly 
ofiferings  half-way.  He  wishes  to  become  a  critic, 
that  is  to  say,  to  understand  as  well  as  to  enjoy, 
to  compare  his  impressions  with  those  of  his  friend, 
and  be  able  to  give  some  reason  for  his  preferences. 
The  increase  in  depth  of  vision  which  is  promoted 
by  aesthetic  contacts  depends  upon  relations  that 
are  not  discerned  intuitively.  The  mind  must 
first  be  cleared  of  erroneous  notions  concerning 
the  nature  and  function  of  art,  the  eye  and  ear 
taught  to  select  and  combine  in  accordance  with 
the  dictates  which  the  artist  himself  obeys,  the 
right  conclusion  assisted  by  all  manner  of  perti- 
nent suggestions  and  indirect  approaches,  every 
hindrance  due  to  wrong  education  or  natural  preju- 
dice cleared  away,  so  that  the  artist's  message  may 
find  quick  entrance  into  intellect  and  heart  and 
fulfil  its  mission  there. 

Ill 

To  perform  this  generous  service  for  students 
who  wish  to  become  connoisseurs  in  music  is  the 
privilege  of  him  who  assumes  to  teach  the  history 
and  appreciation  of  this  art.  The  remainder  of 
the  present  discussion  will  be  devoted  to  the  ques- 
tion of  his  preparation  and  his  methods.  What 
should  be  his  view  of  his  art  —  its  relations  and 
significance,  social  and  personal?     How  shall  he 

13S 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

go  to  work  to  enable  his  pupils  to  see  below  its 
surface  and  organize  their  detailed  impressions  into 
productive  knowledge  ? 

The  first  question  has  been  treated  in  the  pre- 
ceding chapters.  The  second  is  now  awaiting  an 
answer.  It  divides  into  two  problems,  the  teach- 
er's equipment  and  the  manner  of  his  procedure 
with  his  class. 

The  rapid  spread  of  interest  in  the  history  of 
music  among  American  musicians  and  students  in 
later  years  is  a  symptom  which  must  give  the  liveU- 
est  satisfaction  to  every  one  who  longs  to  see  music 
take  the  station  to  which  it  is  entitled  among  in- 
tellectual concerns.  Still  more  recently,  what  is 
called  "musical  appreciation"  has  followed  the 
lead  of  history,  sometimes  attaching  itself  to  the 
skirts  of  its  forerunner,  sometimes,  with  a  strange 
lack  of  wisdom,  trying  to  break  out  a  separate 
path  of  its  own.  Whatever  may  be  said  of  the 
results  thus  far  attained,  the  entrance  of  a  subject 
so  profound  and  far-reaching  into  musical  educa- 
tion is  an  inspiriting  spectacle  to  every  musician 
who  beheves  that  his  calling  is  as  serious  as  any 
other.  For  just  as  soon  as  the  study  of  an  art  is 
firmly  planted  upon  a  basis  of  historic  criticism 
and  a  recognition  of  its  intimate  relation  to  life 
and  the  spiritual  advancement  of  the  individual 
and  the  race,  then  the  stage  of  dilettanteism  and 
trifling  is  past.  Whenever  works  of  musical  art 
begin  to  be  studied,  not  simply  with  a  view  to 
performance  for  temporary  entertainment,  but  as 

139 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

vehicles  for  the  presentation  of  beauty  and  the 
communication  of  vital  emotion,  then  the  student 
may  be  made  to  see  that  the  complete  lesson  of 
musical  art  cannot  be  learned  if  each  work  is  set 
apart  and  insulated.     He  discovers  that  there  is  an 
art  of  music  —  not  merely  separate  works  of  art 
—  having  the  attributes  and  large  purpose  that 
all  the  arts  possess  as  factors  in  human  progress. 
To  live  in  the  whole,  which  was  Goethe's  rule  for 
the  intellectual  life,  is  likewise  the  condition  of 
real  profit  in  any  single  subject  of  inquiry.     Every 
educator  who  knows  what  is  going  on  in  colleges, 
schools,  and  organized  private  circles  perceives  that 
music  is  everywhere  being  drawn  into  the  grasp  of 
this  idea.     Its  progress  is  every  day  accelerated, 
and  the  enthusiasm  on  the  part  of  teachers  and 
pupils  is  prophetic  of  still  finer  results.     Mechan- 
ical inventions  have  given  this  work  an  enormous 
impetus,  for  a  difficulty  that  would  have  been  in- 
surmountable a  few  years  ago  —  that  of  adequate 
illustration  —  has  now  been  overcome.     The  whole 
ideal  and  practice  of  musical  education  are  rapidly 
being  transformed.     The  grand  result  of  it  all  is 
that  students  of  music  are  being  made  into  think- 
ers instead  of  mere  technicians.     No  longer  are  the 
musically  gifted  the  only  ones  benefited  by  musical 
study  —  the  great  mass  of  the  untalented  may  see 
that  this  difiicult  art  has  also  something  for  them, 
if  only  they  are  willing  to  undergo  the  gentle  dis- 
cipline which  opens  the  mind  and  makes  wise  their 
natural  affection. 

140 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

IV 

There  is,  however,  a  less  cheerful  side  to  the 
matter,  which  must  receive  the  speedy  considera- 
tion of  teachers  and  directors  of  educational  in- 
stitutions. The  demand  for  instructors  is  vastly 
in  excess  of  competent  supply,  and  the  result  is 
that  there  is  no  other  subject  in  the  whole  circuit 
of  our  educational  practice  that  is  taught  with  so 
slender  a  stock  in  trade.  Young  men  and  women 
who  know  nothing  of  musical  history  except  its 
outlines,  and  are  even  less  familiar  with  the  de- 
partments of  human  thought  and  action  to  which 
musical  history  and  philosophy  are  related,  are  at- 
tempting to  teach  one  of  the  most  complex  and 
abstruse  subjects  in  the  whole  range  of  knowledge. 
And  because  there  is  no  better  material  to  be  had, 
these  novices  are  given  positions  in  high-grade 
schools  and  colleges.  They  work  chiefly  by  means 
of  brief  text-books,  and  the  text-books  which  have 
the  largest  sale  in  this  country  are  only  dry  com- 
pilations which  give  no  intimation  that  history  is 
something  more  than  mere  chronological  succes- 
sion. The  "appreciation"  of  music  is  usually 
made  to  appear  as  an  acquaintance  with  forms  and 
technicalities,  the  philosophic  study  of  the  mind 
as  it  creates  and  receives  being  so  difficult  that  the 
most  comfortable  way  of  dealing  with  this  funda- 
mental question  of  taste  and  judgment  is  to  ignore 
it  altogether.  In  private  musical  circles  the  same 
holds  true.  Beginners  do  not  know  what  or  where 
141 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

the  right  material  is,  how  it  is  to  be  used  when 
found,  how  the  facts  are  to  be  grouped,  or  upon 
what  principles  the  relative  values  of  facts  and 
groups  of  facts  are  to  be  estimated.  The  true 
psychologic  and  historic  background  nowhere  ap- 
pears. Not  only  are  works  and  biographic  data 
isolated  from  one  another,  but  the  whole  art  is 
detached  from  the  Hfe  of  which  it  is  the  token. 
It  is  very  much  as  if  one  should  undertake  to  study 
or  teach  psychology  and  should  stop  with  physi- 
ology. Or  as  if  one  should  attempt  to  learn  the 
history  of  a  country  by  memorizing  an  elaborate 
table  of  contents.  Those  who  are  attracted  by 
the  history  of  music  are  bewildered  by  the  vast 
accumulation  of  detail  which  confronts  them  at 
every  turn.  They  do  not  know  how  to  begin  or 
how  to  proceed;  their  work  is  disappointing  to 
themselves  because  they  are  not  able  to  co-ordinate 
their  facts  and  derive  from  them  the  generaliza- 
tions by  which  they  become  really  significant. 

As  the  heads  of  colleges  and  schools  know  noth- 
ing, as  a  rule,  of  what  the  history  and  criticism  of 
music  involve,  so  musicians  themselves  in  most 
cases  do  not  see  the  whole  length  and  breadth  of 
what  is  contained  in  musical  expression  or  in  music 
as  a  means  of  culture.  This  is  explained  by  the 
nature  of  their  education.  They  have  not  been 
trained  in  the  methods  of  historical  research  and 
critical  interpretation.  Their  study  has  been 
chiefly  along  the  line  of  musical  technicalities,  and 
they  are  not  able  to  overpass  the  bounds  of  their 
142 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

specialties  and  traverse  with  clear  vision  those 
parallel  regions  of  art,  philosophy,  and  science  where 
are  found  so  many  illuminating  side-lights  that  help 
to  solve  the  problem  of  music  as  a  vehicle  of  ex- 
pression. Even  in  the  higher  institutions  of  learn- 
ing the  teaching  of  musical  appreciation  often  goes 
no  farther  than  the  analysis  of  musical  structure. 
How  can  the  real  lesson  of  Palestrina,  of  Bach,  of 
Beethoven,  of  Wagner  be  understood  without  a 
deep  knowledge  of  the  purposes  of  these  men,  and 
the  conditions  in  which  their  works  appeared? 
Those  works  are  representative,  and  they  represent 
something  more  than  counterpoint,  or  theme  devel- 
opment, or  orchestration.  What  were  the  artistic, 
social,  and  ecclesiastical  conditions  that  compelled 
the  masses,  motets,  and  hymns  of  Palestrina  to  take 
their  peculiar  form  and  character  ?  What  were  the 
tendencies  that  culminated  in  the  work  of  Bach, 
and  what  was  his  relation  to  German  Protestantism? 
What  were  the  ruling  forces  in  the  music  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  which  are  so  plainly  indicated 
in  the  compositions  of  Beethoven  that  he  is  taken 
as  the  leader  and  type  of  that  epoch?  What  was 
the  motive  that  inspired  the  revolutionary  propa- 
ganda of  Richard  Wagner?  On  the  basis  of  what 
aesthetic,  social,  and  ethical  theories  did  he  establish 
the  final  position  which  the  music-drama  holds  in 
the  world  of  art  ?  Such  problems  as  these  go  some- 
what deeper  than  the  level  that  is  reached  by  the 
teaching  of  music  history  that  we  commonly  find 
around  us  to-day.     Not  long  ago  a  series  of  absurd 

143 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

answers  to  questions  in  music  history,  emanating 
from  one  of  our  Western  universities,  appeared  in 
a  musical  journal.  They  were  supposed  to  exhibit 
the  stupidity  of  those  who  set  them  down  in  their 
examination  papers,  but  they  showed  nothing  of 
the  sort.  What  they  did  prove  —  the  questions 
as  well  as  the  answers  —  was  the  incompetence  of 
the  instructor. 

But  let  us  be  charitable.  A  large  allowance  for 
incompleteness  of  preparation  on  the  part  of  teach- 
ers should  be  made,  for  defects  of  training  must  come 
to  Hght  when  an  eager  and  wide-spread  curiosity 
and  a  peremptory  demand  for  instruction  spring 
up  almost  in  a  day.  There  must  be  long  and  thor- 
ough training  for  this  department  of  education,  as 
much  as  for  any  field  of  science  or  philosophy,  and 
the  colleges  and  universities  must  furnish  it.  This 
they  have  hardly  yet  even  begun  to  do.  There 
are  but  one  or  two  institutions  in  this  country 
where  the  history  and  criticism  of  music  are  in 
the  care  of  men  who  have  made  long  and  special 
study  of  those  subjects,  and  are  enabled  to  give 
their  whole  time  to  them.  Lectures  on  the  history 
and  criticism  of  music  are  now  heard  in  many  uni- 
versities and  colleges,  but  the  lecturer  as  a  rule 
must  make  this  department  simply  a  side  issue. 
The  only  time  he  can  use  for  preparation  is  that 
which  he  is  able  to  snatch  from  the  weary  hours 
occupied  in  the  teaching  of  harmony,  or  piano- 
playing,  or  whatever  his  specialty  may  be.  The 
colleges  call  for  experts  in  the  history  and  inter- 

144 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

pretation  of  literature,  and  in  a  few  instances 
(still  a  very  few)  in  the  history  of  painting,  sculp- 
ture, and  architecture,  but  they  leave  the  interpre- 
tation of  music  to  those  who  have  crammed  for  it 
in  their  eleventh-hour  leisure.  The  consequence 
is  that  scholarly  work  in  this  department  is  rare 
in  the  higher  educational  institutions  of  America. 
The  contrast  between  this  country  and  Europe  in 
this  respect  is  noticeable.  Such  eminent  scholars 
as  Sir  Hubert  Parry,  Hermann  Kretzschmar,  Hugo 
Riemann,  Jules  Combarieu  —  to  mention  a  few 
out  of  many  —  are  regular  or  occasional  lecturers 
in  colleges  and  universities.  Others  equally  fa- 
mous are  lecturers  in  the  national  conservatories  of 
music.  In  this  country,  to  be  sure,  we  have  critics 
who  have  produced  an  amount  of  Hterary  work  that 
is  highly  honorable  to  American  taste  and  schol- 
arship. But  where  are  these  men  to  be  found? 
With  few  exceptions  they  are  in  newspaper  ojB&ces. 
With  their  literary  skill  and  their  broad  acquaint- 
ance in  many  fields  of  knowledge,  added  to  their 
musical  culture,  they  are  admirably  equipped  for 
the  work  that  is  needed  in  our  higher  abodes  of 
learning,  but  these  institutions  know  them  not. 

Why  should  college  experts  in  other  departments 
be  blamed  if  they  look  with  scant  respect  upon  the 
work  done  by  their  colleagues  in  musical  exposi- 
tion ?  Fortunately,  men  properly  qualified  as  pro- 
moters of  the  higher  musical  culture  are  beginning 
to  appear  in  our  colleges.  They  will  be  far  more 
numerous  when  their  subject  is  relieved  from  the 

145 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

disability  which  obHges  it  to  force  its  own  way, 
and  the  trained  competents  are  no  longer  compelled 
to  break  down  barriers  of  prejudice  before  they 
are  allowed  freedom  to  assert  the  beliefs  and  the 
powers  that  are  in  them. 


Given  the  opportunity  which  the  colleges  will 
soon  be  ready  to  afford,  what  preparation  is  re- 
quired of  the  man  who  wishes  to  cultivate  this 
promising  field  ?  A  considerable  knowledge  of  the 
details  of  musical  science  is  presupposed.  But  he 
must  not  isolate  his  subject  from  other  human 
concerns.  In  order  to  bring  his  mission  into  har- 
mony with  the  ideal  of  university  culture  he  must 
first  make  definite  in  his  own  mind  and  that  of 
others  the  special  basis  of  form  and  expression  upon 
which  music  rests,  and  then  reach  out  into  those 
historic,  social,  and  aesthetic  relations  where  the 
final  significance  of  musical  culture  is  to  be  found. 
These  relationships  have  already  been  indicated 
in  the  preceding  discussion.  It  only  remains  to 
keep  directly  in  view  the  lecturer  confronting  his 
class,  and  suggest  the  general  nature  of  his  spirit 
and  his  method. 

The  teacher  of  musical  history  and  appreciation 
finds  himself  supplied  with  a  large  mass  of  facts 
from  which  conclusions  are  to  be  drawn.  These 
facts  consist  of  musical  works,  technical,  historic, 
and  biographic  data.     The  lessons  to  be  derived 

146 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

are  of  two  kinds,  viz.,  historic  and  critical  generali- 
zations and  personal  applications.  The  second 
class  will  in  the  end  dominate  the  first;  Pater's 
question,  ''What,  precisely  what,  is  this  to  me?" 
is  the  factor  of  chief  moment.  That  is  to  say,  the 
qualified  instructor  must  be  a  critic,  and  the  incul- 
cation of  right  principles  of  criticism  among  his 
pupils  must  be  uppermost  in  his  design. 

Now  what  is  art  criticism  ?  Contradictory  opin- 
ions prevail  and  provoke  heated  controversy.  To 
the  "subjective"  critic,  criticism,  in  the  famous 
phrase  of  Anatole  France,  is  the  story  of  "the  ad- 
ventures of  one's  soul  among  masterpieces."  The 
experience  of  one's  soul  in  face  of  works  of  art  is 
the  matter  of  prime  interest,  not  the  work  itself  as 
an  external,  self-sufl5cient  entity,  except  in  so  far 
as  it  is  the  agent  by  which  the  reaction  is  effected. 
The  critic  of  this  school  may  be  supposed  to  say: 
If  I  study  a  work  dispassionately  with  the  purpose 
of  discovering  all  its  bearings  and  connections  as 
an  item  in  an  evolutionary  scheme  or  as  a  reflec- 
tion of  some  passing  phase  of  social  progress,  then 
my  standard  is  scientific,  not  aesthetic.  An  aesthetic 
judgment  is  a  formulation  of  one's  own  feeHng, 
and  my  own  feeling  is  the  only  guarantee  of  value 
which  I  can  directly  know.  Hence  it  follows  that 
there  is  no  universal  and  unchanging  standard  of 
aesthetic  merit,  and  authority  in  matters  of  taste 
is  a  tyrannical  assumption  which  must  be  resisted 
in  the  name  of  intellectual  freedom.  I  may  be  in- 
terested in  another's  opinion  in  regard  to  a  certain 

147 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

work  of  art,  and  may  learn  something  from  his 
statement  of  his  reasons;  but  his  preference  can 
have  no  claim  upon  my  acceptance,  and  its  best 
service  is  merely  in  some  brilliancy  of  description 
which  will  fan  my  own  emotion  into  a  brighter 
flame. 

The  classic  defense  of  the  cause  of  the  subjective 
critic  in  the  controversy  is  that  made  by  Anatole 
France.  "The  technical  conditions  in  which  ro- 
mances and  poems  are  elaborated,"  he  says,  "in- 
terest me  in  only  a  slight  degree.  All  books  in 
general,  even  the  most  admirable,  appear  to  me 
infinitely  less  precious  by  that  which  they  contain 
than  by  that  which  is  put  into  them  by  him  who 
reads  them.  The  best,  in  my  opinion,  are  those 
which  give  the  most  to  think  about,  and  things  the 
most  diverse.  The  great  benefit  of  works  of  the 
masters  is  to  inspire  sage  reflections,  ideas  grave 
and  familiar,  floating  images  like  garlands  inces- 
santly broken  and  rewoven,  long  reveries,  a  curi- 
osity vague  and  delicate,  which  attaches  to  every- 
thing without  exhausting  anything,  the  memory 
of  that  which  was  dear,  forgetfulness  of  vile  cares, 
the  moved  return  upon  oneself.  The  critic  must 
be  thoroughly  penetrated  with  this  idea,  that 
every  book  has  as  many  different  copies  as  there 
are  readers,  and  that  a  poem,  like  a  landscape, 
transforms  itself  in  all  the  eyes  that  see  it,  in  all 
the  souls  that  conceive  it."  He  compares  critics 
to  those  Alsacians  of  the  Hohwald  who  have  placed 
benches  for  wayfarers  at  points  where  the  shade 

148 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

is  most  sweet,  the  view  most  extended,  nature  most 
alluring.  "These  good  Alsacians,"  says  M.  France, 
"have  taught  me  what  kind  of  service  those  are 
able  to  confer  who  have  hved  in  the  country  of 
the  spirit  and  have  for  a  long  time  wandered  there. 
I  resolved  for  my  part  to  go  and  place  rustic  benches 
in  the  sacred  groves  and  near  the  fountains  of  the 
Muses.  This  modest  and  pious  employment  de- 
mands no  doctrine  or  system,  and  requires  only  a 
sweet  astonishment  before  the  beauty  of  things. 
Accommodated  to  my  tastes  and  suited  to  my 
powers,  the  task  of  criticism  is  to  set  with  love 
benches  in  beautiful  places,  and  to  say,  following 
the  example  of  Anytus  of  Tegea:  'Whoever  thou 
mayest  be,  come  and  sit  in  the  shadow  of  this 
beautiful  laurel,  in  order  to  pay  homage  there  to 
the  immortal  gods.'  " 

This  ideal,  so  winningly  expressed,  has  unques- 
tionably an  awakening  effect  when  sought  by  a 
pure  mind  and  transmitted  with  a  power  which  is 
able  to  create  a  similar  vision  in  one  whom  the 
critic  desires  to  teach.  The  critic  who  has  "no 
doctrine  or  system,"  but  seeks  only  to  record 
"grave  reflections,"  to  inspire  "floating  images" 
and  "long  reveries,"  to  present  not  what  the  work 
contains  but  something  that  he  puts  into  it,  must 
himself,  if  he  is  to  accompHsh  his  aim,  be  a  skilled 
literary  artist,  and  must  create  something  that  is 
itself  a  work  of  art,  a  counterpart  of  that  which 
he  observes.  In  cases  where  this  hterary  skill  is 
of  a  high  order  it  will  often  happen  that  the  criti- 
149 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

clsm  will  be  of  greater  artistic  merit  than  the  thing 
criticised,  and  the  main  interest  of  the  reader  be 
turned  from  the  object  interpreted  to  the  subject 
interpreting.  Again,  the  object  will  be  treated 
simply  as  a  text  which  furnishes  an  occasion  for 
the  gathering  of  reflections  from  many  sources. 
Walter  Pater's  celebrated  rhapsody  upon  the 
"Mona  Lisa"  gives  us  no  instruction  that  would 
help  us  to  judge  of  the  merit  of  the  portrait,  and 
might  have  been  just  as  well  inspired  by  any  one 
of  a  hundred  piquant  female  faces.  There  are 
many  analogous  instances  in  literature  in  which 
the  beauty  of  the  result  seems  almost  to  justify 
the  method.  Poems  suggested  by  works  of  art 
must  inevitably  be  of  this  character.  Keats's 
*'Ode  on  a  Grecian  Urn"  is  a  notable  example. 
Among  the  great  prose  writers,  as  for  instance 
Ruskin,  there  are  eloquent  responses  to  the  touch 
of  beauty,  where  the  writer  seems  endowed  with 
an  inspired  insight,  and,  striking  with  magical 
phrases  into  the  centre  of  the  mystery,  thrills  the 
reader's  soul  into  a  mood  which  seems  to  him  the 
deepest  and  purest  consequence  which  he  could 
hope  to  obtain.  The  critic's  art  is  the  transparent 
medium  by  which  the  heart  of  the  reader  and  the 
heart  of  the  artist  mingle  together. 

Such  revelations,  however,  are  in  the  nature  of 
the  case  rare,  and  we  feel  that,  in  spite  of  their 
charm  and  suggcstivcness,  they  are  not  implicitly 
to  be  trusted.  We  often  discover  that  two  im- 
pressionist critics  will  be  afifected  in  totally  dif- 

150 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

ferent  ways  by  the  same  production,  and  also  that 
the  critic's  rhapsody  is  often  called  forth  by  some 
single  attribute  in  the  object  of  his  admiration, 
quite  ignoring  other  qualities  which  if  dwelt  upon 
would  occasion  a  different  verdict.  It  is  not  the 
whole  of  his  intellect  which  the  critic  brings  to 
bear,  but  a  part  of  it.  He  puts  himself  into  the 
object,  and  it  is  in  the  last  resort  himself  that  he 
gives  his  reader.  And  so,  when  the  reader  escapes 
from  the  atmosphere  of  enchantment  he  often  finds 
himself  all  at  sea,  and  begins  to  make  inquiry 
after  trustworthy  principles  which  will  steady  him 
amidst  these  contradictions.  However  highly  he 
values  these  stimulating  influences,  he  will  readily 
see  that  when  he  examines  a  work  of  art  with  the 
help  of  such  criticism  he  must,  as  a  preliminary, 
study  the  critic,  in  order  that  he  may  know  how 
much  allowance  to  make  for  the  personal  equation. 

VI 

The  critic  of  the  "objective"  or  impersonal  order 
proceeds  more  coolly.  He  tries,  in  Matthew  Ar- 
nold's phrase,  to  put  himself  out  of  the  way  and 
let  humanity  decide.  To  him  a  work  of  art  is  not 
something  that  may  be  admirable  at  one  time, 
uninteresting  at  another,  according  to  the  mood 
through  which  it  is  observed.  There  are,  he  would 
say,  fixed  degrees  of  merit  among  art  works  which 
can  be  determined  in  accordance  with  principles 
that  are  derived  from  experience;   these  principles 

151 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

do  not  fluctuate  with  every  change  of  individual 
taste  or  the  caprices  of  fashion;    they  are  finally 
established  because  they  are  in  conformity  with 
traits  that  are  embedded  in  the  very  constitution 
of  the  human  mind.     This  is  what  is  meant  by  the 
"laws  of  art"  —  they  arise  not  from  the  arbitrary 
preferences  of  those  who  assume  authority  to  de- 
termine that  such  and  such  methods  and  forms 
shall  constitute  the  treatment  and  themes  of  art, 
but  because  the  consensus  of  those  whose  experi- 
ence covers  a  broad  field  of  space  and  time,  and  who 
are  best  qualified  to  judge  of  the  relation  of  art 
to  physical  and  spiritual  life,  declares  that  certain 
manifestations  of  the  art  impulse  answer  to  a  con- 
stant human  need.     To  discover  these  needs  and 
relations,  and  to  interpret  works  of  art,  not  in 
terms  of  momentary  excitement,  but  in  terms  of 
permanent  gratification,  is  the  task  of  the  objective 
critic.     The  critic  of  the  former  order  calls  upon 
his  intuition;   the  critic  of  the  latter  order  applies 
his  understanding.    His  method  is  the  comparative, 
which  goes  beyond  the  particular  work  and  its 
immediate  impression  in  search  of  relationships 
which  will  afford  a  measure  of  the  true  value  of 
the  work  by  determining  the  complete  compass  of 
its  functions  and  influence. 

The  critic  who  is  thus  actuated  believes  that 
works  of  art  possess  a  value  in  themselves  which 
is  inherent,  absolute,  not  varying  in  correspondence 
with  the  fluctuation  of  emotion  or  fancy.  He 
wishes  to  ascertain  in  what  this  merit  consists, 

152 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

and  seeks  for  standards  that  may  guide  his  judg- 
ment in  the  right  way.  He  believes  that  such 
standards  exist,  because  in  art  as  in  morals  a  thing 
is  not  good  to-day  and  bad  to-morrow,  true  in  one 
age  or  country,  false  in  another.  He  distrusts  the 
personal  estimate  when  unsupported,  because  he 
knows  that  it  is  fickle  and  arbitrary,  dependent 
upon  temperament  and  moods  which  have  no  ulti- 
mate validity,  certainly  no  authority  over  the  opin- 
ions of  others.  If  one's  use  of  art  is  merely  for 
one's  own  indulgence,  then  the  exclusive  personal 
consideration  may  serve,  but  not  if  one  assumes 
to  instruct  others.  The  teacher  must  not  say  to 
his  pupils,  "The  only  thing  I  can  give  you  for  your 
help  is  my  own  private  preference";  neither  must 
he  say,  "There  are  no  rules  of  taste:  take  what  you 
like;  your  own  feeling  is  your  only  concern,  and 
your  inclinations  are  as  good  as  those  of  any  other." 
Art  appreciation  can  be  taught,  and  teaching  im- 
pUes  comparison  and  standards.  It  is  certain  that 
all  works  are  not  equally  good,  and  their  merit  is 
not  determined  by  a  correspondence  that  may  exist 
between  them  and  the  popular  judgment  of  their 
time.  If  this  were  not  so  there  would  be  no  reason 
in  asserting  that  the  operas  of  Wagner  are  superior 
to  those  of  Rossini.  The  Gothic  architecture  and 
the  works  of  Shakespeare  and  Rembrandt  were 
barbarous  to  the  men  of  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries,  but  few  would  now  have  the 
hardihood  to  assert  that  a  change  of  taste  in  the 
years  to  come  would  deprive  them  of  their  great- 

153 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

ness.  The  choral  works  of  Sebastian  Bach  were  si- 
lent and  forgotten  for  eighty  years,  but  their  beauty 
was  as  undiminished  as  that  of  the  "Hermes"  of 
Praxiteles  during  its  burial  of  eleven  centuries. 
Are  there  no  criteria  by  which  the  beginner  in  art 
appreciation  may  be  made  to  understand  the  su- 
periority of  Praxiteles  and  Bach  and  Shakespeare 
and  Rembrandt?  When  Ruskin  writes  ecstatic- 
ally of  Turner  we  are  undoubtedly  made  to  see 
what  we  should  not  otherwise  have  seen,  and  our 
pleasure  in  the  pictures  is  enhanced  by  the  con- 
tagion of  the  critic's  enthusiasm;  but  are  there  no 
positive  grounds  by  which  it  can  be  decided  once 
for  all  whether  Turner's  pre-eminence  is  real  or  an 
illusion  cherished  in  the  brain  of  his  eloquent  apos- 
tle? Moreover,  the  masters  are  not  always  at 
their  best;  how  can  we  sift  their  productions  so 
that  we  may  discriminate  and  not  waste  our  time 
over  that  which  is  inferior?  There  are  grades  in 
the  hierarchy  of  art,  many  worthless  efforts  are 
thrown  in  our  way,  charlatans  and  pretenders 
clamor  for  public  notice,  and  in  the  interest  of  our 
pride,  and  perhaps  of  our  purse,  we  fear  to  be  de- 
ceived and  put  to  eventual  shame.  Where  is  the 
infallible  precept  to  be  found  which  we  may  take 
into  our  understanding  and  rest  upon  as  a  safe- 
guard against  error? 

No  final  answer  can  be  given,  but  the  impersonal 
critic  is  convinced  that,  although  his  results  may 
not  be  infallible,  yet  there  are  truths  in  art  toward 
which  he  may  approach,  and  that  there  are  methods 

154 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

of  inquiry  that  are  more  to  be  trusted  than  his 
own  whims  or  even  his  instincts.  He  discovers 
that  there  is  an  intellectual  element  in  art  as  well 
as  an  emotional  one,  that  at  the  basis  of  all  art 
production  there  is  science.  Every  department  of 
art  has  its  special  technique;  technical  perfection 
or  imperfection  is  an  important  factor  in  the  esti- 
mate of  its  value,  and  good  or  bad  craftsmanship 
is  a  feature  that  can  be  definitely  recognized, 
taught,  and  explained.  Works  of  art  in  a  multi- 
tude of  instances  have  a  decorative  or  utiUtarian 
purpose,  and  there  are  fixed  principles  by  which 
they  can  be  judged  as  adequate  or  inadequate  to 
their  motive.  The  important  question  of  origi- 
nality and  individuality  can  be  easily  determined 
by  comparison.  The  artist's  motive  may  often  be 
discovered,  and  the  degree  of  clearness  and  force 
by  which  he  reaHzes  his  aim.  The  error  of  judging 
one  class  of  work  by  standards  applicable  to  another 
class  may  easily  be  avoided,  for  there  is  no  es- 
sential disagreement  among  scholars  in  regard  to 
these  distinctions.  There  is  one  method  of  treat- 
ment for  mural  painting,  another  for  easel  painting; 
one  style  for  piano  music,  another  for  the  string 
quartet;  one  method  of  handling  the  material  in 
the  drama,  another  in  the  epic.  The  artist  con- 
siders not  merely  his  impulse,  but  also  his  medium, 
and  the  state  of  mind  to  which  he  must*  appeal. 
To  the  critic  this  impulse,  this  medium,  this  appeal 
must  all  find  a  harmony  in  the  expression  of  the 
work.    These  and  many  other  considerations  that 

155 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

enter  into  aesthetic  judgment  are  not  capricious, 
but  constitute  established  principles,  which,  al- 
though not  final  in  the  evaluation  of  the  work, 
can  never  be  left  wholly  out  of  the  account,  and 
they  insure  the  candid  inquirer  against  radical 
errors.  In  a  word,  the  critic  who  brings  scholarship 
to  his  aid  first  studies  the  work  dispassionately  in 
all  its  bearings  of  form,  structure,  application,  and 
intent,  and  teaches  his  followers  to  see  it  as  it  ap- 
pears to  the  normal  sense,  so  far  as  the  normal 
sense  can  be  trained  to  analyze,  without  danger 
that  the  impression  will  be  distorted  by  an  inter- 
vening haze  of  temperament. 

This  method,  however,  cannot  reach  finality. 
The  personal  equation  can  never  be  left  out  of 
the  account.  Back  of  those  impressions  which  all 
who  have  trained  senses  will  receive  essentially 
in  the  same  way,  there  is  the  expression,  the  emo- 
tion, the  vision,  which  can  only  be  intuitively  dis- 
cerned. FeeUng  can  only  be  interpreted  by  feel- 
ing. As  a  man  is  so  he  feels,  and  no  critic,  however 
learned  or  sympathetic,  can  force  all  his  hearers 
into  the  same  emotional  path.  The  common  re- 
source in  directing  art  appreciation  is  to  take  art- 
ists who  have  been  accepted  as  supreme  by  the 
agreement  of  the  best  minds  acting  through  con- 
siderable periods  of  time,  and  attempt  to  mould 
the  judgment  in  accordance  with  the  spirit  and 
style  of  their  works.  But  even  this  course,  which 
seems  so  safe,  involves  insuperable  difficulties,  for 
even  if  the  station  of  these  artists  may  have  been 

156 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

fixed  forever  in  the  hearts  of  men  (although  even 
this  cannot  be  proved),  to  demand  that  other 
works  should  be  prized  only  as  they  conform  to 
these  models  would  be  an  exercise  of  tyranny, 
which  has  indeed  been  often  practised  with  mis- 
chief as  the  result.  To  insist  that  new  works  shall 
repeat  the  qualities  of  the  old  puts  a  bar  before 
progress.  This  spirit  condemned  the  Gothic  in 
the  name  of  the  antique,  the  romantic  in  the  name 
of  the  classic,  the  realistic  in  the  name  of  the  ro- 
mantic, the  impressionist  in  the  name  of  all  the 
others.  To  imbibe  the  spirit  of  the  great  ones  of 
the  past  is,  indeed,  a  powerful  aid  to  culture,  but 
when  our  instructor  takes  any  work  or  group  as 
model  we  properly  ask  his  reasons  for  his  choice. 
Says  Matthew  Arnold:  "There  can  be  no  more 
useful  help  for  discovering  what  poetry  belongs  to 
the  class  of  the  truly  excellent,  and  can  therefore 
do  us  most  good,  than  to  have  always  in  one's 
mind  lines  and  expressions  of  the  great  masters, 
and  to  apply  them  as  a  touchstone  to  other  poetry. 
Of  course  we  are  not  to  require  this  other  poetry 
to  resemble  them;  it  may  be  very  dissimilar. 
But  if  we  have  any  tact  we  shall  find  them,  when 
we  have  lodged  them  well  in  our  minds,  an  infalli- 
ble touchstone  for  detecting  the  presence  or  ab- 
sence of  high  poetic  quality,  and  also  the  degree 
of  this  quaUty,  in  all  other  poetry  which  we  may 
place  beside  them."  Very  good,  but  we  at  once 
inquire:  How  shall  we  know  these  passages  of 
supreme  excellence  when  we  see  them?    There 

157 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

must  be  back  of  them  a  standard  which  explains 
their  selection  —  where  shall  we  find  it?  Arnold 
undertakes  to  help  us  by  offering  quotations  from 
Homer,  Dante,  and  others,  but  why  did  he  choose 
these  particular  passages?    What  is  there  in 

"Absent  thee  from  felicity  awhile," 
or 

"And  courage  never  to  submit  or  yield, 
And  what  is  else  not  to  be  overcome," 

that  bears  the  unmistakable  mark  of  supreme 
genius?  Would  not  a  critic  of  a  different  men- 
tality from  that  of  Arnold  offer  a  very  different 
list  for  our  adoption  as  touchstones?  Arnold  is 
plainly  falling  back  upon  the  "personal  estimate" 
which  a  few  pages  earher  he  condemned  as  ''fal- 
lacious." It  follows  that  while  the  subjective 
critic  may  renounce  objective  criticism  and  sim- 
pHfy  his  reaction  to  the  utmost,  the  critic  who 
seeks  for  law  and  authority  cannot  leave  the  per- 
sonal preference  out  of  the  account.  The  true 
wisdom  in  his  course  lies  in  accepting  every  phase 
of  art  which  seems  to  answer  a  reasonable  want, 
bracing  his  estimate  by  the  aid  of  every  support 
he  can  summon  from  within  and  without,  and 
thereby  making  his  individual  pleasure,  which  he 
cannot  be  expected  to  forego,  to  rest  upon  broad, 
catholic,  and  tolerant  conclusions. 


158 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

VII 

A  third  order  of  critics  carries  the  analytic  method 
of  the  second  still  farther,  throwing  the  emphasis 
upon  the  attachments  between  works  of  art  and 
the  life  to  which  they  are  related.  This  criticism 
treats  art  works  first  and  foremost  as  human  doc- 
uments, and  is  chiefly  interested  in  them  as  afford- 
ing instruction  upon  the  conditions  —  psychologic, 
social,  racial  — which  they  reflect.  The  critic  of 
the  first  class  interprets  in  terms  of  his  own  instinc- 
tive reactions  of  pleasure  or  distaste,  the  second 
judges  according  to  principles  which  he  deduces 
from  the  experience  of  the  intellectual  world,  the 
third  explains  by  the  results  of  his  study  of  causes 
and  effects.  The  latter  has  been  called  a  scien- 
tific critic,  and  his  interest  is  akin  to  that  of  an 
archaeologist  or  an  economist. 

The  acknowledged  leader  of  this  scientific  school 
is  Taine.  In  his  "Lectures  on  Art"  he  explains 
that  "the  principal  point  of  [the  true  method  in  art 
history]  consists  in  recognizing  that  a  work  of  art 
is  not  isolated,  and  consequently  that  it  is  neces- 
sary to  study  the  conditions  out  of  which  it  pro- 
ceeds and  by  which  it  is  explained."  The  first  step 
is  to  understand  that  "a  work  of  art  belongs  to  a 
certain  whole,  that  is  to  say,  to  the  entire  work  of 
the  artist  producing  it."  In  the  second  place,  "the 
artist  himself,  considered  in  connection  with  his 
productions,  is  not  isolated;  he  also  belongs  to  a 
whole,  one  greater  than  himself,  comprising  the 

159 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

school  or  family  of  artists  of  the  time  and  country 
to  which  he  belongs."  Finally,  ''this  family  of 
artists  is  itself  comprehended  in  another  whole 
more  vast,  which  is  the  world  surrounding  it,  and 
whose  taste  is  similar.  The  social  and  intellectual 
condition  is  the  same  for  the  pubUc  as  for  the  art- 
ists; they  are  not  isolated  men;  it  is  their  voice 
alone  that  we  hear  at  this  moment,  through  the 
space  of  centuries,  but  beneath  this  living  voice 
which  comes  vibrating  to  us,  we  distinguish  a  mur- 
mur, and  as  it  were  a  vast,  low  sound,  the  great, 
infinite,  and  varied  voice  of  the  people,  chanting  in 
unison  with  them."  "We  have  therefore  to  lay 
down  this  rule,"  says  Taine  in  summing  up,  "that, 
in  order  to  comprehend  a  work  of  art,  an  artist,  or 
a  group  of  artists,  we  must  clearly  comprehend 
the  general  social  and  intellectual  condition  of  the 
times  to  which  they  belong."  In  reiterating  his 
conviction  on  this  point  Taine  positively  annuls 
the  position  taken  by  the  subjective  critic.  "A 
critic  is  aware,"  he  affirms,  "that  his  personal  taste 
has  no  value,  that  he  must  set  aside  his  temper- 
ament, inclinations,  party,  and  interests;  that, 
above  all,  his  talent  lies  in  sympathy;  that  his  first 
essay  in  history  should  consist  in  putting  himself 
in  the  place  of  the  men  whom  he  is  desirous  of 
judging,  to  enter  into  their  instincts  and  habits, 
to  espouse  their  sentiments,  to  rethink  their 
thoughts,  to  reproduce  within  himself  their  inward 
condition,  to  represent  to  himself  minutely  and 
substantially  their  surroundings,  to  follow  in  imag- 

i6o 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

ination  the  circumstances  and  impressions  which, 
added  to  their  innate  tendency,  have  determined 
their  actions  and  guided  their  lives.  Such  a  course, 
in  placing  us  at  an  artistic  point  of  view,  permits 
us  better  to  comprehend  them;  and,  as  it  is  com- 
posed of  analysis,  it  is,  like  every  scientific  opera- 
tion, capable  of  verification  and  perfectibility." 

This  system  of  Taine  has  been  justly  criticised 
as  reducing  art  to  the  domain  of  natural  history; 
as  giving  no  reason  for  the  feeling  of  love  to  par- 
ticular works  that  arises  from  the  sense  of  spiritual 
companionship  between  the  receiver  of  the  work 
and  its  creator;  as  recognizing  no  ground  of  prefer- 
ence for  one  art  work  as  compared  with  another 
(as  a  zoologist  does  not  declare  one  shell-fish  better 
than  another,  but  merely  seeks  to  know  the  facts 
about  them) ;  and,  most  of  all,  as  ignoring  the  ob- 
vious truths  that  works  of  genius  are  something 
more  than  the  mere  natural  products  of  external 
conditions,  that  the  great  artist  is  in  advance  of 
his  time  and  himself  alters  his  environment,  con- 
tributes to  the  shaping  of  the  conditions  which  in 
turn  react  upon  his  subsequent  activity.  Taine, 
by  marshalling  an  imposing  array  of  facts  con- 
cerning the  milieu  in  which  the  arts  have  developed, 
has  emphasized  the  necessary  lesson  that  a  vital 
relatioii  exists  between  artistic  creations  and  their 
epoch,  but  omits  from  the  calculation  the  free,  spiri- 
tual self-determination  which  is  not  only  the  condi- 
tion of  art  progress,  but  also,  in  the  last  resort,  the 
ultimate  ground  of  the  delight  which  art  brings  to  us. 
i6i 


MUSIC  AND   THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

VIII 

If  neither  of  these  critical  methods  gives  us  the 
whole  truth  of  art  appreciation,  overasserting  on 
the  one  hand  the  emotional  factor,  on  the  other 
the  cold  intellectual,  where,  then,  is  the  right  proce- 
dure to  be  found?  The  answer  is,  In  all  of  them 
combined.  The  final  value  of  art  to  all  of  us  is 
the  personal  value  —  the  amount  of  Hfe  that  it 
contains,  heightening,  enlarging,  strengthening  our 
own  spiritual  life.  The  joy  and  lasting  worth  to 
us  comes  in  a  glad  surrender  to  that  essential,  un- 
analyzable  element  which  enters  our  souls  without 
impediment,  free  for  the  moment  from  those  re- 
minders of  cause  and  relation  which  would  turn  our 
thought  to  its  historic  and  scientific  associations 
and  away  from  the  living  spirit.  Nevertheless  — 
and  here  comes  the  reason  for  our  study  of  the 
history  and  morphology  of  art  —  our  minds  must 
undergo  some  preliminary  preparation  for  that  re- 
ceptiveness  which  seems  at  the  moment  spontane- 
ous and  unconditioned.  Art  works,  no  matter  how 
ideal  they  may  be,  are  not  isolated  or  miraculous; 
the  artist  is  not  snatched  away  out  of  space  and 
time,  reporting  of  a  world  apart  from  that  in  which 
his  fellow  men  perform  their  daily  tasks.  Every- 
thing that  he  achieves  testifies  to  a  life  which  is 
the  product  of  a  multitude  of  ordinary  activities, 
and  the  recognition  of  these  in  their  influence  upon 
the  artist  and  his  work  is  a  necessary  part  of  the 
mental  equipment  of  one  who  would  not  only  en- 

162 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

joy  the  work  as  a  thing  of  beauty,  but  also  find  his 
knowledge  of  the  world  and  men  increased  by 
means  of  it.  There  are  standards  of  comparative 
value  in  art;  there  are  historic,  social,  psycho- 
logical, even  physiological  influences  acting  upon 
him  who  creates  and  him  who  sees  or  hears,  and 
out  of  a  clear  understanding  of  the  complex  nexus 
of  causes  and  results  comes  that  attitude  of  mind 
which  brings  the  emotional  response  (which,  no 
doubt,  is  the  highest  term)  under  prudent  self- 
control,  because  supported  by  a  perception  of  those 
general  truths  which  unite  our  own  experience  to 
the  experience  of  our  fellows  who  are  beauty- 
seekers  and  truth-seekers  like  ourselves. 

The  privilege  of  the  critic  lies  not  only  in  the 
development  of  his  own  intellectual  and  emotional 
faculties,  but  also  in  the  assistance  he  gives  to 
others  by  presenting  the  rational  ground  of  his 
appreciations.  The  three  orders  of  criticism  above 
described,  each  alone  deficient,  should  merge  in  one. 
*'When  I  speak  of  criticism,"  said  William  Sharp, 
"I  have  in  mind  the  marriage  of  science  that  knows 
and  of  spirit  that  discerns."  The  question  for  the 
critic  is  not  only  what  the  work  contains,  but  how 
it  came  to  be.  A  work  of  art  is  both  an  organism 
and  an  integral  part  of  a  larger  organism.  The 
emotional  response  will  be  affected  by  knowledge 
of  its  genesis  and  function.  Works  testify  to  the 
artist  and  also  to  his  environment.  We  are  bathed 
in  the  currents  of  life  which  flow  through  them. 
While  they  heighten  our  individual  self-conscious- 
163 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

ness,  they  also  take  us  out  of  ourselves  and  make 
us  citizens  of  a  larger  commonwealth.  The  proc- 
ess that  distinguishes  in  works  of  art  all  the  factors 
that  reveal  the  movements  of  inner  and  outer  life, 
and  increase  the  sympathetic  as  well  as  the  affect- 
ive powers,  is  what  we  call  interpretation,  and  in 
interpretation,  fully  understood,  is  found  the  proper 
office  and  the  higher  satisfaction  of  criticism. 

DC 

These  conclusions  belong  to  musical  criticism 
as  well  as  to  criticism  of  literature  and  plastic  art. 
Their  application  is  especially  difficult  in  the  art 
of  tone,  but  the  principles  of  interpretative  criti- 
cism, as  already  expounded,  must  be  made  to  in- 
clude the  history  and  appreciation  of  music,  for 
music  cannot  be  understood  by  one  who  shuts  him- 
self up  within  the  boundaries  of  musical  forms,  and 
lets  the  visible  and  active  world  go  its  way  unheeded. 
''It  is  perfectly  futile,"  exclaims  Mr.  Ernest  New- 
man, "  to  go  on  discussing  the  aesthetics  of  music 
in  abstrado,  without  reference  to  the  historical  con- 
ditions under  which  the  art  has  lived,  and  under 
which  it  has  been  moulded  from  century  to  century." 

The  teacher  of  the  history  and  appreciation  of 
music  must,  therefore,  be  a  critic,  with  the  knowl- 
edge, breadth  of  view,  and  sense  of  proportion 
which  the  office  of  an  interpreter  requires.  He 
must  be  at  home  not  only  with  music  but  also  with 
a  great  deal  besides  music.     He  will  find  that  sci- 

164 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

ence,  art,  literature,  and  history  are  constantly  fur- 
nishing water  for  his  mill.  He  must  not  isolate 
music  as  a  whole,  and  he  must  not  isolate  any  de- 
partment of  music.  There  are  many  who  pretend 
to  teach  the  appreciation  of  music  who  confine 
their  attention  to  matters  of  musical  structure  and 
technique  —  the  merely  formal  side  of  the  subject. 
It  is  as  if  one  were  to  teach  archaeology  in  the  name 
of  art,  or  grammar  to  those  who  looked  for  litera- 
ture. It  is  easily  conceivable  that  a  man  like 
Charles  Lamb,  who  confessed  that  he  had  no  ear, 
might  be  greatly  interested  in  the  history  of  no- 
tation, or  even  the  machinery  of  counterpoint. 
There  are  histories  of  music  which  seem  to  discover 
everything  of  interest  in  the  art  except  that  it  is 
beautiful  and  speaks  to  the  heart.  On  the  other 
hand,  one  who  disregards  the  scientific  foundation 
and  the  appeal  to  the  reflective  understanding  is 
as  reprehensible  as  the  narrow  technician.  The 
instructor  may  strive  to  arouse  the  emotional  na- 
ture of  his  pupils  and  assure  them  that  the  suffi- 
cient warrant  of  music  is  in  its  beauty  and  the  joy 
it  gives;  he  may  properly  indicate  his  own  prefer- 
ences because  they  are  drawn  from  a  large  experi- 
ence; but  he  must  show  that  emotions  and  pref- 
erences are  to  be  based  on  reason  and  subject  to 
revision.  He  should  so  lead  his  disciples  that  their 
delight  in  single  works  will  spring  from  minds  clar- 
ified by  previous  experiences,  each  acting  as  part 
condition  of  the  following  mental  state,  emotion 
ever  looking  back  to  knowledge  for  its  confirma- 
165 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

tion.  But  if  he  attempts  to  impose  his  own  private 
temperamental  judgments  upon  his  class  as  a  law 
for  their  own  decisions,  their  obvious  retort  will 
be  annihilating  to  his  pretensions.  His  true  proce- 
dure will  be  to  throw  them  back  upon  themselves, 
employ  the  method  of  suggestion,  bring  to  them 
the  means  that  will  avail  for  the  formation  of  wise 
conclusions.  Then,  in  the  last  resort  he  can  leave 
them  free,  confident  that,  though  they  may  wander 
and  go  astray,  they  will  not  wholly  lose  their  bear- 
ings, but  will  work  out  at  last  their  own  aesthetic 
salvation.  For  salvation,  in  matters  of  art  appre- 
ciation, consists  not  in  forming  fixed  and  final  con- 
victions, but  in  readiness  to  forsake  old  standing- 
ground  when  change  means  progress  toward  new 
light  and  fuller  truth. 

X 

Reverting  again  to  questions  of  method  —  the 
scholarly  expounder  of  the  history  of  music  finds 
the  guiding  thread  amid  the  labyrinth  in  the  prin- 
ciple of  evolution.  A  comprehensive  estimate  of 
works  and  phases  of  art  is  gained  when  they  are 
studied,  not  as  detached,  self-dependent  items,  but 
as  the  result  of  processes.  Too  many  students 
and  teachers,  even  authors  of  books  and  "outlines," 
arc  well  satisfied  with  raking  together  miscellaneous 
facts,  with  great  apparent  admiration  for  facts  as 
such,  quite  unaware,  it  would  seem,  that  these  in- 
teresting counters  are  of  no  value  except  as  they 

i66 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

are  related  to  one  another  as  components  of  an 
organic  whole.  The  method  of  evolution,  which 
has  been  defined  as  "continuous  progressive  change, 
according  to  certain  laws  and  by  means  of  resident 
forces,"  has  found  no  more  brilliant  illustration 
than  in  the  history  of  modern  music.  This  process, 
indeed,  has  not  been  continuous  and  unbroken 
from  the  beginning  until  now.  Not  until  the 
Christian  era  did  music  become  conscious  of  powers 
unknown  in  its  primitive  and  antique  condition, 
and  even  in  the  early  centuries  of  the  Christian 
period  the  tendency  for  a  time  was  rather  toward 
simplification.  From  the  invention  of  part  writing 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  year  looo,  the  develop- 
ment of  counterpoint  was  regular  and  systematic 
up  to  its  culmination  in  the  sixteenth  century.  At 
that  point  music  seemed  to  hesitate,  to  grope  for 
a  new  standing-ground,  and  then,  seizing  the  oppor- 
tunity afforded  by  an  old  principle,  now  for  the 
first  time  recognized  in  all  its  possibilities,  advanced 
along  a  number  of  channels,  each  current  drawing 
stimulus  and  direction  from  the  others.  From 
that  moment  there  has  been  in  vocal  and  instru- 
mental music  a  constant  unfolding  of  forms  and 
styles  out  of  previous  forms  and  styles,  incessant 
selection,  adaptation,  and  specialization,  with  also, 
as  in  the  vegetable  and  animal  world,  abortive 
growths,  arrested  movements,  and  exhausted  en- 
ergies. Every  musical  composer,  every  composi- 
tion, and  every  school  has  a  definite  place  in  this 
intricate  but  logical  system.  So  persistent  has 
167 


MUSIC   AND   THE  HIGHER   EDUCATION 

been  this  evolution  that  every  student  of  musical 
history  must  make  the  recognition  of  this  process 
his  point  of  departure;  for  it  shows  him  that  no 
single  event  or  tendency  is  to  be  studied  in  isola- 
tion, but  always  as  a  part  vitally  connected  with 
a  great  living  whole,  and  only  to  be  understood  in 
its  relation  to  the  whole. 

The  evident  cause  of  this  remarkable  develop- 
ment process,  so  far  as  music  may  be  said  to  be 
conscious  of  its  motive,  is  found  in  the  desire  for 
beauty  and  for  expression  of  feeling.  The  primi- 
tive musical  impulse  is  not  aesthetic  but  utiUtarian. 
Music  is  here  a  means,  not  an  end,  striving  for 
some  ulterior  good,  not  for  pure  delight.  Magical 
incantation,  employed  throughout  the  world  from 
the  most  remote  epochs,  finds  its  most  potent 
agents  in  tones,  rhythms,  and  the  allied  art  of 
dancing.  Hardly  less  universal  are  songs  of  labor; 
and  the  efficiency  of  bodily  movements  in  develop- 
ing the  sense  of  rhythm,  and  the  power  of  rhythmic 
tone  to  heighten  the  physical  energies  and  regulate 
collective  action,  arc  attested  by  a  multitude  of  ob- 
servations. In  none  of  these  uses,  which  go  far 
to  explain  the  very  origin  of  music,  are  tone  and 
rhythm  conceived  as  the  material  of  an  independ- 
ent art  with  distinct  laws  of  its  own.  Music  in 
this  stage  is  bound  as  a  slave  to  poetry,  to  the 
dance,  to  labor,  to  magical  incantation  and  relig- 
ious rite.  Emancipated  in  the  Middle  Ages,  it  in- 
curred a  new  bondage,  and  became  the  puzzle  of 
ingenious  theorists;  it  remained  for  centuries  the 

168 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

exercise-ground  of  learned  contrivance,  a  gratifica- 
tion to  the  eye  and  the  understanding  rather  than 
to  the  ear  and  the  emotion. 

Gradually  the  formalism  of  the  period  of  the 
Renaissance  yielded  to  a  craving  for  expression, 
and  the  intricate  devices  of  the  schools  relaxed 
into  a  grace  of  melody  and  a  harmonious  sweet- 
ness to  which  the  heart  and  the  imagination  could 
gladly  respond.  It  remained  to  join  music  to  the 
sentiments  which  spring  from  contact  of  the  soul 
with  the  various  experiences  of  social  and  domestic 
life.  There  ensued  a  revolt  against  the  ecclesias- 
tical style  on  account  of  its  austerity  and  limited 
range  of  expression,  and  a  demand  for  a  means  of 
rendering  a  more  varied  order  of  moods  and  con- 
ceptions resulted  in  the  development  of  the  recita- 
tive and  aria.  The  application  of  these  new  modes 
of  song  to  dramatic  dialogue  produced  the  opera. 
Instrumental  music  also  began  to  take  shape  as 
an  independent  art,  at  first  imitating  the  older 
forms  of  chorus  music,  next  running  off  into 
florid  devices  of  embelhshment,  adopting  also  the 
rhythms,  turns  of  melody,  and  simple  sectional  ar- 
rangement derived  from  the  dances  of  the  common 
people.  The  modern  key  system  arose  through  a 
natural  transformation  of  the  mediaeval  Gregorian 
modes,  stimulated  by  the  need  of  unhampered  free- 
dom in  modulation  and  of  a  reciprocal  balancing 
of  tonal  supports.  The  Italian  opera  and  instru- 
mental music  developed  side  by  side,  the  opera 
emphasizing  melody,  the  other  busying  itself  with 
169 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

contrivances  of  rhythm,  harmony,  and  form.  The 
French  opera  arose  in  the  seventeenth  century 
through  the  grafting  of  the  new  Itahan  style  of 
music  upon  the  court  ballet.  In  Italy,  France,  and 
Germany,  and  to  some  extent  in  England,  comic 
opera  sprang  up  exuberantly  from  the  union  of 
native  melody  with  national  burlesque  comedy. 
Dramatic  music,  early  in  the  seventeenth  century, 
began  to  divide  into  two  great  currents  —  the  opera 
and  the  oratorio,  the  latter  expanded  to  giant  pro- 
portions by  Handel.  J.  S.  Bach,  drawing  his  tech- 
nique from  the  German  chorale  and  organ  music 
and  French  instrumental  chamber  music,  worked 
the  recitative  and  aria  also  into  his  scheme,  and 
pouring  into  the  whole  mass  the  fervor  of  his  in- 
tense spiritual  nature,  built  up  those  stupendous 
passions  and  cantatas  in  which  are  fulfilled  all  the 
tendencies  which  had  been  moving  in  German 
music  for  a  century. 

Instrumental  music  in  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries  shows  us  still  more  clearly  the 
operation  of  evolutionary  laws.  At  the  beginning 
of  the  instrumental  movement  in  Italy  and  France 
the  styles  of  writing  for  organ,  stringed  instruments, 
and  keyed  chamber  instruments  were  very  much 
the  same.  As  the  special  capabilities  of  each  class 
of  instruments  came  to  be  better  understood,  the 
manner  of  writing  for  them  became  more  in- 
dividual. The  polyphonic  and  the  homophonic 
styles  began  to  be  differentiated,  and  also  to  react 
upon  each  other.     The  contrapuntal  style  clung 

170 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

to  the  organ,  while  the  violin  and  the  precursors 
of  the  piano  worked  out  the  sectional  forms  of  the 
suite  and  sonata.  The  organ  style  was  ampHfied 
by  the  German  church  musicians,  of  whom  the 
last  in  the  line  of  progress  and  the  greatest  was 
J.  S.  Bach.  The  stream  of  orchestral  and  chamber 
music,  rising  in  Italy  and  France,  was  deflected 
into  Germany  and  Austria,  and  the  symphonies, 
quartets,  and  sonatas  of  Haydn,  Mozart,  and  Bee- 
thoven were  the  outcome  of  the  impulse  which 
gave  its  first  signal  in  the  little  dance-pieces  of  the 
violinists  of  the  seventeenth  century. 

In  the  closing  years  of  the  eighteenth  century 
the  sprightly  little  operetta  of  Austria  and  Ger- 
many —  itself  an  offshoot  from  earlier  dramatic 
practice  —  began  swiftly  to  expand  into  the  splen- 
did form  known  as  the  romantic  opera,  which  was 
first  given  a  standing  in  high  musical  society  by 
Weber  and  Spohr,  and  was  borne  to  world  conquest 
in  the  hands  of  Richard  Wagner.  At  the  same 
time  the  German  lied,  sweet  and  shy  as  a  village 
maiden,  was  drawn  from  seclusion,  like  another 
Cinderella,  and  raised  to  princely  rank  by  Schubert, 
Schumann,  and  Franz. 

In  the  nineteenth  century  the  differentiating  of 
abstract  forms  has  apparently  come  to  an  end, 
but  the  ferment,  instead  of  subsiding,  only  rages 
more  violently  within  the  confines  of  the  forms 
themselves.  The  homophonic  method,  erected 
upon  independent  foundations  by  the  eighteenth- 
century  symphonists  and  sonata-writers,  has  been 
171 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

subjected  to  a  process  analogous  to  that  through 
which  the  mediaeval  polyphony  passed,  so  that  to 
the  transparent  simplicity  of  Scarlatti,  C.  P.  E. 
Bach,  and  Haydn  have  succeeded  the  massiveness, 
concentration,  complexity,  inward  energy,  and  af- 
fluent detail  of  the  orchestral  works  of  the  later 
German  and  Russian  schools.  Melody  in  the  up- 
per part  with  plain  accompaniment  having  done 
all  that  it  could  in  respect  to  variety  and  interest, 
Beethoven,  in  his  last  quartets,  announced  the 
programme  of  further  progress  by  leading  the 
melody  into  the  heart  of  the  structure,  giving  life 
and  free  movement  to  the  inner  and  lower  parts  — 
not  a  reaction  to  the  old  counterpoint,  but  apply- 
ing contrapuntal  treatment  to  the  solution  of  new 
problems  of  expression  and  design.  In  continua- 
tion of  this  tendency  the  fragments  of  old  forms 
became  readjusted  through  the  assertion  of  a  new 
principle  by  which  form  —  as  in  Wagner's  dramas 
and  Liszt's  symphonic  poems  —  became  moulded 
under  the  exigencies  of  a  poetic  motive,  instead  of 
remaining  subject  to  the  architectonic  principles 
of  the  classic  masters.  The  modern  emphasis  upon 
expression  as  paramount  to  sensuous  beauty  and 
symmetry  of  form  could  have  no  other  result. 
The  present-day  composer,  like  the  poet  and 
painter,  demands  the  free  exercise  of  his  individual- 
ity, and  shapes  his  work,  not  in  accordance  with 
traditional  standards,  but  as  his  personal  genius 
fmds  the  easiest  outlet  for  its  own  original  and  ab- 
solutely sincere  unfolding.     The   effort   to   make 

172 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

instrumental  music  more  intense  and  individual, 
raising  melody,  harmony,  rhythm,  and  orchestral 
color  to  the  highest  pitch  of  force  and  splendor, 
has  consistently  driven  instrumental  music  into 
the  attempt  to  portray  definite  concrete  concep- 
tions, symbolizing  outward  scenes  and  movements 
and  the  moods  and  passions  of  the  soul  —  as  in 
the  programme  symphonies,  overtures,  and  sym- 
phonic poems  of  Berlioz,  Liszt,  Strauss,  and  their 
disciples.  The  older  Italian  and  French  forms  of 
opera,  which  at  one  time  seemed  to  have  become 
exhausted,  sprang  into  new  life  under  the  inspira- 
tion of  Gluck  and  Rossini,  and,  aided  by  an  extraor- 
dinary constellation  of  singers,  intoxicated  the 
world  by  the  vehemence  of  their  passion  and  the 
brilliance  of  their  melody.  The  art  of  orchestra- 
tion, aided  by  radical  improvements  in  the  mecha- 
nism of  wind  instruments,  ever  propounding  new 
problems  in  variety,  fulness,  and  delicate  shading 
of  tone,  has  been  extended  and  refined  by  the  later 
masters  until  the  most  greedy  ear  is  well-nigh 
surfeited  with  sheer  voluptuousness  of  sound.  In 
short,  the  imion  and  refinement  of  all  the  factors 
which  the  centuries  have  brought  forth  to  en- 
chant the  ear  and  kindle  the  imagination  has 
now  lifted  musical  art  to  such  a  height  of  glory 
that  it  would  almost  seem  as  though  the  assim- 
ilation of  the  results  attained  would  be  gratifica- 
tion enough  for  a  century  to  come,  even  if  the 
onward  march  of  musical  invention  were  to  be 
completely  stayed. 

173 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

XI 

The  rational  principle  of  connection  which  the 
student  seeks  for  in  the  midst  of  the  vast  accumu- 
lation of  details  is  to  be  found,  it  seems,  in  the  su- 
preme fact  of  growth,  which  links  successive  events 
together,  not  by  a  mechanical,  but  by  a  vital  bond. 
As  every  human  being  has  a  history,  each  experi- 
ence within  and  without  modifying  his  character, 
so  that  what  he  is  at  one  moment  is  conditioned  by 
what  he  was  a  moment  before;  so  music,  in  its 
unnumbered  phenomena  extending  down  the  ages, 
has  a  history,  as  consistent,  as  progressive  as  that 
of  any  organism  whose  changes  testify  to  a  con- 
stant push  of  a  life-force  within.  In  order  to  under- 
stand any  musical  form  or  any  group  bounded  by 
a  nationality,  institution,  or  period,  the  scrutiny 
must  be  directed  to  its  antecedents  and  environ- 
ment. 

Now,  to  go  further:  if  we  search  below  the  sur- 
face we  shall  find  that  this  advancing  movement 
has  been  made  possible  by  the  inpour  at  stated 
times  of  new  streams  of  energy.  Whenever  any 
musical  movement  has  shown  signs  of  exhaustion, 
a  current  of  life  from  outside  has  either  entered 
the  veins  of  the  whole  body  of  the  art,  giving  it  a 
new  force  or  direction,  or  else  the  infusion  has 
stimulated  some  modification  of  a  single  element 
in  the  parent  form,  thus  giving  rise  to  a  new  off- 
shoot to  be  expanded  and  specialized  in  its  turn. 
These  revitalizing  influences  have  most  frequently 

174 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

come  from  the  fresh  fields  of  popular  poesy,  the 
song  and  dance  music  of  the  common  people.  In 
the  naive,  unperverted  life-consciousness  of  the 
uncultured  masses  He  the  pure  springs  from  which 
art  again  and  again  draws  the  elixir  that  sustains 
or  restores.  Even  the  complex  contrapuntal  cho- 
ruses of  the  mediaeval  church  —  as  far  removed  from 
natural  expression  as  an  art  can  well  be  —  bor- 
rowed their  themes  as  much  from  popular  tunes 
as  they  did  from  the  chant-books;  and  indeed  the 
liturgic  chant  itself  was  doubtless,  at  least  in  part, 
a  modification  of  the  domestic  music  of  antiquity. 
The  German  Protestant  Church  music,  which  rose 
to  such  magnificent  proportions  in  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  centuries,  drew  its  spirit,  and  some 
of  the  most  indispensable  constituents  of  its  form, 
from  the  people's  hymn-tune.  The  new  pattern 
of  melody  which  made  the  earlier  opera  and  ora- 
torio what  they  were  was  the  transfer  into  con- 
scious art  of  the  spontaneous  tunefulness  which 
had  long  been  the  most  cherished  possession  of  the 
multitude.  And  when,  at  certain  periods,  the 
Italian  form  of  aria  became  stereotyped  and  its 
expression  conventional,  the  folk-song,  handmaid 
of  the  popular  comedy,  brought  a  draught  of  brac- 
ing outdoor  air  into  the  operatic  hot-house,  and 
not  only  imparted  higher  truth  to  the  French  and 
Italian  grand  opera,  but  also  became  the  inspira- 
tion of  distinct  additions  to  the  world's  art  in  the 
French  opera  comique  and  the  German  roman- 
tic opera.     The  whole  art  of  instrumental  music, 

175 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

although  drawing  into  itself  the  learning  of  the 
schools,  leads  back  to  the  popular  dance;  the  final 
destiny  of  the  sonata  and  symphony  was  assured 
when  certain  organists  and  violinists,  early  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  conceived  the  thought  of 
imitating  the  crisp  rhythms,  evenly  balanced 
phrases,  and  simple  sectional  forms  of  the  country 
dances,  and  elaborating  their  patterns  into  larger 
artistic  designs,  Haydn,  the  foster-father  of  the 
symphony,  quartet,  and  sonata,  and  Beethoven, 
who  gave  them  their  sovereignty  in  modern  art, 
were  giants  who,  Antseus-like,  drew  their  chief 
strength  from  the  earth.  Haydn  imparted  to  his 
works  the  abounding  vitality,  the  racy  joyousness, 
of  Austrian  and  Hungarian  folk-music,  and  Bee- 
thoven constantly  refreshed  his  genius  from  the 
flood  of  life  which  he  felt  coursing  in  nature  and  the 
humanity  around  him.  So  Schubert,  Schumann, 
Franz,  and  Brahms  gave  the  German  lied,  the  child 
of  the  peasantry,  its  universal  expressive  power. 
The  art  ballad  of  Loewe  and  his  compeers  is  the 
folk-ballad  of  Germany,  England,  and  Scotland,  en- 
riched by  the  addition  of  the  descriptive  power  of 
instrumental  art.  The  most  characteristic  of  the 
piano  works  of  Schumann,  one  of  the  regenerators 
of  nineteenth-century  music,  are  in  the  last  anal- 
ysis the  folk  song  and  dance,  expanded  by  con- 
structive skill  and  transfigured  by  emotion.  Even 
Mendelssohn,  an  afterglow  of  the  classic  school, 
was  most  original  when  spellbound  by  the  charms 
of  landscape  and  folk-lore.     The  whole  romantic 

176 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

movement  in  music,  culminating  in  Wagner,  drew 
its  spirit  and  color  from  romantic  poetry,  and  that 
in  turn  from  beliefs  and  experiences  which  consti- 
tuted the  folk-poesy  and  folk-religion.  And,  as  a 
final  demonstration  that  the  nourishment  of  music 
is  in  the  popular  soil,  toward  the  middle  of  the 
nineteenth  century  came  the  momentous  musical 
invasion  from  Russia,  Poland,  Hungary,  Bohemia, 
and  Scandinavia,  which  in  every  instance  had  its 
source  in  the  national  musical  consciousness,  —  a 
movement  which  has  given  a  new  impetus  and 
quality  to  European  tonal  art,  and  which  affords 
one  more  impressive  illustration  of  the  truth  that 
in  the  heart  of  the  simple,  ingenuous  people  lie 
inexhaustible  resources  of  feeling  from  which  art 
may  be  ever  renewed. 


XII 


The  expounder  of  musical  history  finds,  as  we 
have  seen,  a  working  method  for  the  drawing  of 
his  ground-plan  in  the  principle  of  evolution,  that 
is  to  say,  of  growth.  Every  act  is  attached  to  an 
act  in  the  past;  musical  forms  progress  from  the 
simple  to  the  complex,  the  parent  stems  throwing 
out  branches,  which  in  turn  become  organized  and 
matured;  and  along  with  this  technical,  we  might 
say  physiological,  development,  expression  tends 
out  of  the  abstract,  vague,  general,  and  formal  into 
the  particular,  definite,  individual,  and  character- 
177 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

istic.  He  also  finds  that  this  twofold  advance  is 
quickened  by  the  stir  of  life  that  springs  up  spon- 
taneously in  the  popular  heart,  which,  as  soon 
as  it  becomes  sufficiently  self-conscious,  overflows 
into  the  more  artificial  art  channels,  giving  direc- 
tion and  force  to  the  intellectual  currents,  which 
without  such  infusion  would  in  time  lose  their 
energy  and  become  stagnant. 

We  also  find,  as  our  survey  enlarges,  that  the 
historic  movements  in  musical  art  are  to  a  great 
extent  associated  with  contemporary  changes  in 
the  larger  world  of  thought  and  action.  As  in  the 
departments  of  literature  and  painting,  so  there  has 
always  been  a  magnetic  connection  between  mu- 
sic and  certain  dominant  social  tendencies.  These 
correspondences  must  not  be  pushed  so  far  that 
for  the  sake  of  a  doctrine  we  conjecture  a  relation- 
ship that  docs  not  actually  exist;  intellectual 
changes,  cfTecting  certain  results  in  religion,  politics, 
literature,  or  representative  art,  may  produce  no 
analogous  consequence  in  music,  or  else  the  anal- 
ogous phenomenon  in  music  will  appear  at  a  later 
period.  Secularization  in  music,  although  an  out- 
growth of  the  Renaissance,  appeared  long  after  the 
Renaissance  had  established  its  mission  in  other 
spheres.  It  would  be  difTicult  to  explain  the  work 
of  Sebastian  Bach  in  the  light  of  contemporary 
tendencies  in  religion  or  art;  his  counterparts  must 
be  looked  for  in  an  earlier  time.  Nevertheless,  the 
vital  relationship  between  music  and  the  whole  life 
of  man  cannot  be  disputed.     The  form  and  expres- 

178 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

sion  which  music  has  taken  in  particular  nations 
and  times  cannot  be  explained  by  the  mechanical 
processes  of  technical  evolution  alone. 

Music  can  never  be  understood  if  it  is  divorced 
from  life.     The  significance  of  musical  works  is  not 
exhausted  when  their  immediate  aesthetic  impres- 
sion has  passed.     Every  composition  is  a  human 
document;  in  it  we  see  more  or  less  clearly  defined 
the  Hkeness  of  its  creator.     It  is  an  event  in  the 
artist's  emotional  life;    it  leads  us  back  to  that 
most  worthy  of  all  objects  of  study,  a  hving  man. 
But  this  living  man  is  not  isolated  or  self-deter- 
mined;  he  is  made  what  he  is  only  slightly,  if  at 
all,  by  his  own  resolution,  but  vastly  more  by  in- 
nate and  inherited  dispositions,  by  physical,  so- 
cial, and  moral  influences,  by  modes  of  thinking, 
feeling,  and  acting  which  prevail  in  the  epoch  in 
which  he  lives,  and  which  he  shares  with  the  mem- 
bers of  the  community  or  race  to  which  he  belongs. 
The   spiritual   elements  which   combine   to   form 
what  we  call  his  "genius"  cannot  be  precipitated 
by  any  formal  analysis  of  his  work.     Just  as  soon 
as  the  investigator  compares  different  styles  and 
phases  of  musical  development  with  other  mani- 
festations of  contemporary  activity,  when  he  ex- 
amines all  the  conditions  amid  which  large  related 
groups  of  musical  compositions,   and  also  single 
works  of  the  highest  order,  appear,  he  will  often 
discover  that  the  musical  forms  respond  in  the 
most  sensitive  fashion  to  the  hidden  impulses  that 
reveal  themselves  in  the  literature,  art,  philosophy, 
179 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

religion,  and  even  sometimes  in  the  political  events, 
of  the  time  to  which  they  belong. 

From  this  point  of  view  music  rises  to  the  dig- 
nity of  a  world  oracle,  and  he  who  would  expound 
its  message  must  have  so  broad  a  range  of  vision, 
a  mind  so  cultured  and  sharpened,  that  he  is  able 
to  gauge  all  the  influences  in  art,  science,  belief, 
individual  and  social  dispositions,  which  have  from 
age  to  age  laid  hold  of  the  art  of  music,  and  have 
fitted  it  to  become,  like  its  sister  arts,  a  means 
for  the  expression  as  well  as  the  adornment  of 
life.  These  reactions  of  music  upon  life  and  of 
life  upon  music  easily  evade  clear  demonstra- 
tion; by  reason  of  the  very  mystery  of  music's 
origin  and  the  indefiniteness  of  its  expression,  it 
can  give  no  such  detailed  and  positive  testimony 
as  poetry  and  the  graphic  arts  are  able  to  furnish; 
it  reflects,  rather,  those  general  diffused  states  of 
consciousness  which  are  more  easily  divined  than 
described,  but  which  are  the  underlying  conditions 
of  those  particular  phenomena  with  which  words 
and  pictorial  representations  deal.  Difhcult  as  it 
is  to  trace  the  relationships  between  music  and  life, 
they  cannot  be  disguised,  and  the  fuller  one's 
knowledge  of  history  —  the  deeper  one's  insight 
into  what  really  constitutes  the  problem  of  his- 
tory —  the  more  apparent  becomes  the  truth  that 
music  has  its  roots  in  that  common  soil  from  which 
all  human  emotions  spring.  In  this  lies  the  higher 
worth  and  the  perennial  fascination  of  the  study 
of  the  history  of  music. 

1 80 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

To  illustrate  this  principle  conclusively  would 
be  to  write  the  history  of  music.  To  cite  only  a 
few  of  the  most  striking  correspondences:  there 
is  the  fact  of  religious  music,  the  adaptation  of 
musical  forms  and  styles  to  the  forms  and  ideals 
of  worship  in  the  different  branches  of  the  Chris- 
tian church ;  the  inseparable  union  of  music,  poetry, 
and  dancing  among  primitive  and  ancient  peoples 
—  the  utiHtarian  conception  of  music  as  an  indis- 
pensable aid  in  labor,  magical  incantation,  and  all 
manner  of  social  activities;  the  reciprocal  action 
between  music  and  lyric  and  dramatic  poetry  from 
the  earliest  ages  until  now  (Rene  Doumic,  for  ex- 
ample, has  shown  how  the  drama  of  the  classic  age 
in  France  was  affected  by  the  opera).  One  might 
show  how  the  spirit  of  the  Italian  Renaissance 
seized  upon  music  in  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth 
centuries,  when  the  frank  dehght  in  the  indulgence 
of  sense,  the  revival  of  pagan  myths  as  subject- 
matter  of  art,  the  passion  to  embrace  life  under 
every  guise,  especially  to  separate  the  individual 
from  the  mass  and  bring  his  special  proclivity 
into  action  —  all  of  which  had  metamorphosed 
art,  science,  literature,  and  manners  —  deployed 
themselves  once  more  in  the  field  of  the  opera. 
One  might  show  how  fundamental  national  and 
racial  qualities  may  be  traced  in  national  music, 
from  the  simple  folk-song  to  the  most  elaborate 
achievements  of  finished  art.  The  revolution  in 
artistic  ideals  which  signalized  the  opening  of 
the  nineteenth  century  —  the  romantic  movement, 
i8i 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

the  demand  for  a  more  subjective  expression,  the 
striving  to  penetrate  to  the  very  roots  of  emotion, 
the  substitution  of  direct  personal  revelation  for 
academic  routine  —  in  a  word,  the  notion  of  mak- 
ing personal  disclosure  the  first  endeavor  and  the 
conveyance  of  delight  the  second,  in  exact  reversal 
of  the  dominant  eighteenth-century  motive,  in 
which  the  conveyance  of  dehght  was  paramount,  — 
all  this  is  plainly  reflected  in  the  music  of  the  later 
epoch.  Indeed,  modern  music  flows  into  the  world's 
life  as  the  river  flows  into  the  sea;  the  river  adds 
its  current  to  the  larger  mass,  and  its  own  waters 
are  in  turn  tinctured  with  the  ocean  brine  and 
raised  and  lowered  by  the  ocean  tide. 

Art  history  stirs  the  mind  to  a  wider  range  of 
sympathy,  and  hence  to  a  larger  capacity  for  pleas- 
ure. Art  history  shows  the  artist  and  his  work 
in  their  native  atmosphere.  Great  historic  crises 
create  a  turmoil  in  the  spirits  of  men  from  which 
issue  new  habits  and  states  of  mind,  effecting  ex- 
traordinary spiritual  changes  throughout  a  con- 
tinent or  an  epoch,  and  out  of  these  fermentations 
art  leaps  in  new  shapes  and  attributes,  while  at 
the  same  time  it  reveals  more  clearly  to  men  the 
nature  of  the  upheavals  they  have  endured.  By 
the  instruction  of  history  the  art-lover  takes  ac- 
count of  the  influences  of  race  and  social  condi- 
tions, of  public  taste  and  fashion,  of  patronage  — • 
now  of  the  church,  now  of  the  aristocracy,  now  of 
the  public.  He  learns  that  one  standard  of  inter- 
pretation cannot  be  applied  equally  to  all  forms 

182 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

and  schools,  and  he  acquires  larger  capacities  of 
enjoyment  by  coming  into  sympathetic  touch  with 
modes  of  feeling  different  from  but  not  less  true 
than  his  own.  The  critic  who  takes  all  the  factors 
of  the  problem  into  account  will  come  to  realize 
that  a  judgment  that  is  sagacious  is  pliable  and 
adaptive;  he  will  measure  art  works  by  the  laws 
involved  in  their  own  peculiar  nature,  and  not  by 
a  pedantic  canon  or  an  arbitrary  predilection. 
He  will  see  how  every  sincere  production  met  a 
need  of  its  time,  how  it  indicates  the  achievement 
of  the  art  at  a  certain  point  in  its  career,  how  it 
contributed  to  the  art's  advancement,  and  also 
how  it  reflects  some  special  phase  of  feeling  that 
was  rife  among  those  for  whom  it  was  created. 
Just  as  we  study  the  ethnic  religions,  not  from  the 
standpoint  of  either  an  antagonist  or  an  apologist, 
but  simply  to  learn  to  what  extent  they  are  the 
natural  products  of  certain  stages  of  culture,  and 
how  they  in  turn  throw  light  upon  their  origin. 

By  deep  investigation  into  the  history  of  music 
in  all  its  aspects,  and  by  the  masterly  use  of  the 
means  that  induce  a  Hberal  estimate,  the  critic 
becomes  that  superior  being,  an  interpreter.  He 
does  not  thereby  become  any  the  less  a  critic.  In 
his  perception  of  historic  or  evolutionary  values  he 
will  not  become  obtuse  to  sesthetic  values.  He 
will  still  retain  convictions;  just  as  the  Hberal  stu- 
dent of  the  history  of  religion  need  not  become  in- 
different to  the  claims  of  the  independent  spiritual 
life,  nor  surrender  his  belief  that  in  his  own  religion 

183 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

there  dwells  the  fullest  manifestation  of  the  divine. 
Rather  will  the  true  critic,  by  the  richer  knowledge 
of  human  nature  which  his  historic  inquiry  brings 
to  him,  be  trained  to  see  more  clearly  what  is  of 
enduring  value,  in  contrast  to  those  shifting  phe- 
nomena which  accomplished  a  needful  but  tem- 
porary service  and  passed  away. 

XIII 

It  would  be  difficult  to  assign  any  limits  to  the 
range  of  thought  and  study  to  which  the  art  of 
music  Invites  one  who  would  read  its  many  secrets. 
The  further  one  pursues  the  fascinating  theme  the 
more  correspondences  one  finds  in  nature  and  the 
varied  activities  of  the  human  mind.  No  acquaint- 
ance in  science,  history,  literature,  or  art  seems  to 
come  amiss.  The  larger  one's  experience  grows, 
the  more  apparent  it  becomes  that,  in  spite  of  the 
diversity  of  subject-matter,  material,  form,  and 
method,  there  is  among  all  the  arts  a  common 
bond  and  a  common  office.  Suggestive  compari- 
sons meet  the  musical  critic  on  every  side;  perti- 
nent illustrations  crowd  upon  him;  all  the  species 
of  imaginative  thought  seem  to  belong  to  one  fam- 
ily, so  abundant  are  the  resemblances  and  affini- 
ties. When  the  technical  analysis  of  musical  works 
gives  way  to  the  study  of  them  as  results  of  forces 
within  and  without,  the  tracing  of  processes  ex- 
tends to  the  recognition  of  relationships  which  con- 
nect the  lives  and  productions  of  the  composers 

184 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

with  issues  of  the  widest  sweep  and  importance. 
Weber's  operas  not  only  have  German  romanti- 
cism for  a  background,  but  they  have  a  significant 
part  to  play  in  the  momentous  struggle  for  inde- 
pendence waged  by  German  national  art  against 
foreign  dictation.      The  sharp  heat-lightnings  of 
French  romanticism  play  through  the  works. of 
Berhoz;   he  is  of  the  house  and  lineage  of  Hugo, 
Gautier,  Dumas,   and   Delacroix.     Such   men   as 
Schumann,  Liszt,  and  Wagner  stand  in  such  vital 
connection  with  the  spirit  of  their  age,  their  works 
are  so  obviously  symbolic  of   certain  emotional 
tendencies  which  have  created  new  types  in  Hter- 
ature  and  laid  bare  new  capacities  of  enjoyment 
and  suffering  in  the  human  heart,  that  one  instinc- 
tively feels,  and  their  commentators  inevitably  im- 
ply, that  one  who  would  properly  estimate  these 
musicians  must  bring  to  the  task  an  understanding 
enlarged  by  a  broad  familiarity  with  philosophy 
and  art.    The  study  of  the  early  opera  leads  back 
to  the  Renaissance,  its  causes,  nature,  and  effect. 
The  music  of  the  Catholic  Church  involves  the 
Catholic  Hturgy  and  ceremonial,  the  special  type 
of  devotion  fostered  by  the  cloistral  discipline,  the 
ideal  of  art  promoted  by  the  motive  and  spirit  of 
the  Catholic  Church,  and  the  changes  which  that 
ideal  has  undergone  from  the  mediaeval  to  the 
modern  period.     The  "programme  school"  of  in- 
strumental music  suggests  intricate  questions  con- 
cerning the  nature  and  limit  of  music's  expressive 
power.    Dramatic  music  and  the  song  lead  into 

i8s 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

the  study  of  poetry  and  the  drama  as  psychologic- 
ally and  historically  allied  to  music,  and  the  man- 
ner in  which  these  arts  may  be  combined  to  a 
common  action. 

The  ramifications  of  this  magnificent  subject 
have  no  assignable  end.  The  explorer's  enthusiasm 
will  rise  with  every  moment  in  his  toilsome  advance, 
for  he  will  find  that  in  this  field  of  intelligence,  as 
in  every  other,  nothing  is  isolated  and  there  are 
no  finalities.  New  problems  will  confront  him 
wherever  he  goes;  his  steps  will  be  ever  beguiled 
into  fresh  regions  of  enrichment  and  wonder. 


XIV 

Another  factor  remains  to  be  considered,  viz., 
the  human  factor  as  it  is  exemplified  in  the  stu- 
dents whom  the  teacher  must  prepare  to  profit  by 
the  lessons  which  the  history  and  science  of  music 
afford.  There  are  two  orders  of  relationships  with 
which  the  instructor  in  the  history  and  apprecia- 
tion of  music  will  concern  himself.  Musical  works 
in  their  objective  relationships  —  historic,  social, 
structural,  etc.  —  have  been  already  considered; 
even  more  attractive  subjects  of  inquiry  are  found 
in  the  nature  of  the  action  of  musical  works  upon 
the  mind  of  the  recipient.  In  this  second  problem 
the  work  as  a  concrete,  objective  fact  remains  un- 
changeable —  the  plastic  element  is  the  receiver's 
feeling.     A  scientific  experiment  in  the  laboratory, 

i86 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

or  a  mathematical  demonstration,  is  the  same  to  all; 
while  a  phenomenon  that  calls  upon  the  sense  of 
beauty  and  sets  the  feeling  into  vibration  is  not 
the  same  to  any  two  individuals.     According  to  the 
constitution  of  one's  mind  does  one  see  or  hear, 
and  mental  states  are  determined  by  experiences 
and  inheritances  that  are  never  duplicated.    The 
eye  is  aware  of  color  and  form,  the  ear  of  sound, 
but  it  is  the  spirit  that  divines  the  reaHty  that  lives 
within  the  visible  or  audible  body.     The  teacher's 
finest  task  is  to  aid  in  the  culture  of  this  discern- 
ing spirit,  and  quicken  in  his  pupils  every  sensi- 
bility that  will  enable  them  to  attain  the  utmost 
refinement  of  discrimination  in  the  use  of  the  sense, 
the  understanding,  and  the  emotion. 
First,  there  is  the  culture  of  the  sense. 
There  can  be  no  question  that  the  training  of 
the  perceptive  faculties,  like  the  training  of  the 
emotions,  is  far  too  much  neglected  in  our  schools. 
The  formation  of  habits  of  keen  observation  has 
an  incalculable  influence  upon  the  general  progress 
of  the  intelligence,  while  in  the  development  of 
£esthetic  appreciation  the  power  of  quick  response 
to   delicate  impressions,   and   the   recognition   of 
subtle  shades  and  combinations  of  shapes  and  hues 
and  tones,  is  a  prime  condition  of  accurate  estimate 
of  artistic  values.     A  beginning  may  well  be  made 
in  the  observation  of  the  sights  and  sounds  of  na- 
ture, for  in  the  infinite  variety  and  glory  of  the 
outer  world  will  the  organs  of  sense  find  their  most 
healthful  exercise. 

1S7 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

Can  the  powers  of  the  eye  and  ear  be  increased 
by  practice?  Certainly  not  as  the  strength  of  a 
muscle  or  the  capacity  of  the  lungs  can  be  aug- 
mented by  exercise.  The  amount  of  light  that  is 
received  by  the  eye,  and  the  number  and  ampli- 
tude of  the  vibrations  of  air  that  enter  the  orifice 
of  the  ear,  are  constant  with  any  given  individual 
—  they  cannot  be  enhanced  by  any  known  dis- 
cipline. But  while  the  natural  sensitiveness  of  the 
organ  cannot  be  changed,  the  mind  can  form  habits 
of  attention  and  comparison  which  will  add  im- 
measurably to  its  store  of  recognized  beauties  in 
forms,  shades,  and  timbres.  The  first  condition 
is  the  will  to  see  and  hear,  the  belief  that  nature 
furnishes  endless  rewards  to  those  who  diligently 
seek;  the  second  is  prolonged  and  minute  obser- 
vation. 

Elizabeth  Bisland,  the  biographer  of  Lafcadio 
Hearn,  says  of  him:  "Maimed  in  his  vision,  while 
still  a  lad,  almost  to  the  point  of  blindness,  yet  the 
general  sense  left  upon  the  mind  by  his  whole  body 
of  work  is  one  of  color.  Not  a  shimmer  or  a  glory 
escaped  him.  From  his  books  might  be  gathered 
a  delightful  anthology  of  the  beauty  of  tint,  of 
form,  of  shadow,  of  hne.  No  loveliness  was  too 
subtile,  too  evanescent,  too  minute,  to  be  recog- 
nized by  those  dim  and  straining  eyes."  Thoreau, 
Emerson  said,  had  the  eye  of  a  bird,  and  his  "Jour- 
nals" display  an  almost  incredible  acuteness  of 
vision.  These  men  were  not  exceptional  except  in 
their  desire  to  see,  and  in  the  eagerness  with  which 

i88 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

they  strained  their  vision  to  catch  the  utmost 
revelation  of  beauty  vouchsafed  by  the  contact  of 
light  with  reflecting  surfaces. 

From  countless  sources  comes  evidence  of  the 
amazing  delicacy  which  vision  may  attain.  In  the 
mosaic  factory  of  the  Vatican,  it  is  said,  there  are 
stones  of  twenty-eight  thousand  different  hues. 
Note  the  iridescence  that  plays  through  the  na- 
ture pictures  upon  thousands  of  pages  of  modern 
literature.  Take  a  single  example  from  the  essay 
entitled  "Rosa  Mystica,"  by  "Fiona  Macleod." 
The  writer  is  sitting  in  an  old  garden  by  the  sea; 
the  time  is  late  autumn.  "A  white  calm  prevails. 
A  sea  of  faint  blue  and  beaten  silver,  still  molten, 
still  luminous  as  with  yet  unsubdued  flame,  lies 
motionless  beneath  an  immeasurable  dome  of  a 
blue  as  faint,  drowned  in  a  universal  delicate  haze 
of  silver  gray  and  pearl."  Notice  the  rich  vocab- 
ulary of  color  in  modern  English;  the  dozens  of 
compounds  that  define  recognizable  shades  of 
primary  hues;  the  opulent  store  of  remote,  exotic 
appellations,  such  as  mauve,  damask,  amber,  saf- 
fron, lapis  lazuli,  verd-antique,  ultramarine  —  words 
which  seem  in  themselves  to  throb  with  color,  float- 
ing memory  and  imagination  into  regions  where 
the  world  is  all  aglow  with  tropical  splendors. 
The  keen  vision  of  the  seeker  after  beauty  finds 
the  utmost  loveHness  of  tint  not  in  flowers,  not  in 
jewels,  but  in  the  tender  flames  of  the  stars  —  white, 
blue,  yellow,  red,  orange.  The  ancient  poets  and 
artists,  we  are  sometimes  told,  were  incapable  of 
189 


MUSIC  AND   THE  HIGHER   EDUCATION 

seeing  color  as  moderns  see  it  —  but  this  lack,  if 
it  existed,  was  not  incapacity;  the  structure  and 
function  of  the  eye  were  the  same  in  the  elder  days 
as  now;  the  ancient  observer  was  not  so  interested 
in  these  fine  shades  of  difference;  the  modern  sen- 
sibility is  not  so  much  a  matter  of  aptitude  as  of 
temperament,  for  it  is  the  more  intimate  relation 
to  nature  brought  about  by  scientific  discovery, 
more  nervous  haste  after  novel  experience,  new 
modes  of  thought,  that  have  enabled  the  sensitive 
subject  of  the  present  day  to  find  delight  in  phe- 
nomena to  which  his  far-away  ancestor  was  com- 
paratively indifferent. 

Beyond  all  reckoning  is  the  increase  in  the  zest 
of  life  which  is  acquired  by  him  who  trains  his 
sight  to  perceive  the  finest  degrees  of  contrast  in 
the  intensity,  quality,  and  relations  of  abstract  form 
and  color.  Nature  and  art,  in  this  pursuit,  rein- 
force and  guide  each  other.  The  lover  of  the 
painter's  art  must  strive  to  develop  a  painter's  eye. 
It  is  held  as  worthy  of  remark  that  it  was  reserved 
for  landscape-painters  of  the  present  day  to  dis- 
cover that  there  is  strictly  no  such  thing  as  local 
color,  but  that  objects  change  their  color  accord- 
ing to  the  direction  and  amount  of  light.  Shadows 
arc  not  black;  shadows  cast  l)y  bright  sunlight  upon 
snow  have  always  been  blue,  but  the  artist  who 
so  represents  them  is  called  by  the  rabble  ''un- 
natural." Ruskin  asserts  that  in  one  of  Turner's 
landscapes  there  is  not  a  space  as  large  as  a  grain 
of  wheat  that  docs  not  contain  gradations  in  color. 
190 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

Supposing  this  to  be  true,  it  shows  as  keen  a  color 
sense  in  the  critic  as  in  the  painter. 

The  thinker  who  pursues  a  course  of  education 
in  color  also  learns  that  a  refined  taste  consists 
not  in  a  love  for  vivid  sensations  and  strong  con- 
trasts, but  rather  for  mellowness,  harmony,  and 
delicacy  of  gradation.  The  great  colorists  are  not 
those  who  spread  flamboyant  hues  upon  their  can- 
vases. The  Oriental  rug  which  tempts  the  true 
connoisseur  is  subdued  and  reposeful  in  its  rich 
blending  of  low  tones.  "The  crimsons  and  golds 
of  sunset,"  says  Professor  John  C.  Van  Dyke, 
"flame  and  glow  with  brilliant  splendor,  but  turn 
about  and  see  if  the  pearly  grays  of  the  eastern 
sky  have  not  their  color  charm  as  well."  "In  the 
dull  clouds  hanging  over  the  Jersey  marshes  in 
November,  in  the  volumes  of  silvery  smoke  thrown 
up  from  factory  chimneys  and  locomotives,  in  the 
reflected  grays  of  the  pools  and  the  creeks,  the  faded 
yellows  and  browns  of  the  rushes,  there  is  a  wealth 
of  color  beauty  which  only  the  trained  eye  can  ap- 
preciate. Such  a  scene  may  have  infinitely  more 
refinement  about  it  than  the  scarlet  foliage  and 
blue  sky  of  an  October  noonday."  The  judicious 
lover  of  landscape  will  not  climb  the  mountain 
when  the  sun  sends  a  dazzling  flood  of  light  through 
a  dry  and  cold  blue  atmosphere,  but  when  the  air 
is  suffused  with  haze,  or  the  sky  is  hung  with  broken 
clouds,  for  then  nature  brings  forth  her  richest 
tapestries,  and  spreads  them  amid  veils  of  opal 
and  mother-of-pearl.  But  if  no  mountain  is  near 
191 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

he  need  not  repine,  for  he  may  find  a  feast  for  his 
eye  in  a  clump  of  yellow  sedge  overhanging  a 
wayside  pool  whose  amber  is  tinged  with  azure 
from  above. 

"  Nature  with  cheap  means  still  works  her  wonders  rare." 


XV 

The  analogy  between  the  senses  of  sight  and 
hearing  in  respect  to  their  education  is  so  close 
that  the  principles  of  one  may  often  be  applied  to 
the  other.  Nature,  indeed,  is  less  lavish  in  her 
tribute  to  the  ear  than  to  the  eye;  nevertheless,  the 
physically  deaf  suffer  sad  deprivations  even  out-of- 
doors,  and  the  nature-lover  will  find  great  pleasure 
accruing  to  him  if  he  has  learned  to  catch  the  mul- 
titudinous reverberations  and  the  coming  and  go- 
ing of  adjusted  sounds,  which  at  times  are  amply 
bestowed  and  but  rarely  vanish  into  utter  silence. 
Thoreau,  to  whom  the  distant  baying  of  a  hound, 
the  throb  of  a  far-off  bell,  the  monotone  of  the 
"telegraph  harp,"  brought  mystic  intimations,  and 
the  trilling  of  insects  and  birds  took  the  place  of 
orchestras  and  operas,  declared  that  "the  contact 
of  sound  with  a  human  ear  whose  hearing  is  pure 
and  unimpaired  is  coincident  with  an  ecstasy." 
The  Jaj)anese,  most  sensitive  of  modern  races  to 
the  subtler  impressions  of  sound  and  line  and  color, 
find  an  aisthetic  delight  in  the  notes  of  certain  in- 
sects and  frogs,  which  are  domesticated  for  their 

192 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

dainty  music,  and  are  celebrated  in  the  verses  of 
poets.  The  Greeks,  too,  loved  the  cicada  for  its 
thin  monotone,  the  most  tender  of  the  voices  of 
nature. 

Although  the  sounds  of  earth  that  give  refined 
pleasure  are  few  compared  with  the  treasures  she 
spreads  before  the  eye,  it  is  well  to  give  earnest 
heed  to  them,  for  they  are  not  only  precious  for 
their  own  sake,  but  they  help  to  attune  the  ear  to 
the  niceties  of  art.  Strange  as  it  may  seem  that 
notes  "jangled,  out  of  tune  and  harsh,"  should  give 
pleasure  to  any  one  of  average  intelHgence,  yet  the 
abundance  of  evidence  that  they  do  so  indicates 
that  the  training  of  the  youthful  ear  to  discrimina- 
tion between  the  pure  and  the  impure  is  not  to  be 
neglected.  The  enjoyment  that  multitudes  of  our 
fellow  creatures  find  in  the  ghastly  "white  voice" 
and  the  discordant  tremolo  of  the  worst  type  of 
vaudeville  singer,  makes  a  musician  wonder  if,  after 
all,  the  ears  of  the  majority  are  not  differently 
constructed  in  their  anatomy  from  his  own.  The 
cheapest  pattern  of  graphophone  appears  to  give 
as  much  comfort  to  some  as  the  violin  of  Ysaye  does 
to  others.  The  guide  to  musical  appreciation  need 
not  deem  his  effort  wasted  when  he  preaches  upon 
the  need  of  preparing  the  auditory  sense  to  catch 
the  finer  shades  of  tone  values.  The  secret  of  edu- 
cation here  consists,  as  in  the  training  of  the  eye, 
in  acute  attention,  observation,  and  comparison. 
Let  the  music  lover  not  be  content  with  imperfect 
intonation,  let  him  learn  to  detect  all  the  shades 

193 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

of  timbre  which  instruments  and  voices  afiford, 
let  him  train  himself  to  perceive  the  multitudinous 
varieties  and  contrasts  which  are  due  to  the  rela- 
tive predominance  of  overtones  —  the  differences 
of  quality  between  the  adjacent  strings  of  a  violin, 
between  the  violin  and  the  viola,  the  oboe  and  the 
English  horn,  the  registers  of  the  bassoon  or  the 
clarinet;  and  while  his  ear  is  invaded  by  the  surge 
and  thunder  of  the  full  orchestra,  let  him  try  to 
analyze  the  thick  and  luscious  current  into  its 
elements,  and  gain  something  of  the  expert  con- 
ductor's acuteness  in  the  exercise  of  that  wonder- 
ful faculty  which  sifts  and  selects,  and  turns  the 
dense  mass  of  tone  color  into  a  huge  spectrum  of 
scintillating  hues. 

The  advice  to  the  student  of  music  also  accords 
with  that  given  by  Professor  Van  Dyke  to  the  lover 
of  painting  —  learn  to  take  delight  in  subdued  and 
delicately  modulated  tones  and  combinations.  As 
the  volume  and  garishncss  of  our  orchestras  in- 
crease, so  much  the  more  virtue  is  there  in  acquir- 
ing a  love  for  what  is  moderate  and  justly  balanced. 
The  test  of  rcfmcd  hearing  is  not  furnished  by  the 
orchestra,  but  by  the  string  quartet.  The  pianist 
of  the  present  day  studies  out  and  applies  a  sub- 
tlety of  nuance  and  color  by  means  of  pedals  and 
fmger  touch  which  even  in  the  days  of  the  mighty 
Liszt  was  undreamed  of;  —  let  not  his  skill  and  taste 
be  wasted  upon  an  ear  too  crude  to  notice  the  fugi- 
tive beauties  that  he  offers  to  the  sense.  We  must, 
however,  acknowledge  that  there  is  a  danger  of 

194 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

attaching  too  much  importance  to  the  sensuous 
element.  A  Kreisler  or  a  Sembrich  could  easily 
commend  a  worthless  composition  to  the  approval 
of  many  hearers  by  the  mere  exquisiteness  of  tone 
and  the  perfection  of  delivery;  and  although  a 
true  artist  will  not  so  descend,  yet  there  is  constant 
danger  in  musical  performance  that  the  greater 
merits  of  thought  and  feeling  will  be  sacrificed  to 
the  lesser  values  of  timbre  and  technique.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  connoisseur  who  so  disregards  the 
sensuous  element  that  he  will  approve  bad  tone  and 
faulty  delivery,  if  only  the  composition  is  a  master- 
piece, is  likewise  in  grievous  error;  for  music  really 
exists  only  as  it  is  performed,  and  when  the  physical 
ear  is  offended  there  is  no  true  expression.  This 
latter  doctrine  is  hard  for  many  amateurs,  who 
justly  emphasize  intellectual  values  in  art,  to  ac- 
cept, but  it  is  nevertheless  one  of  the  foundation 
principles  of  musical  appreciation. 

The  careful  attention  to  pure  tone  may  have  still 
another  favorable  result  in  the  influence  it  exerts 
upon  the  singing  or  speaking  voice  of  the  hearer. 
That  such  an  influence  is  more  than  fancy  is  a 
statement  which  would  naturally  arouse  scepticism, 
but  the  fact  depends  upon  a  well-known  law  that 
mental  conceptions  have  a  moulding  and  direct- 
ing power  over  the  physical  organism  and  its  func- 
tions. Mrs.  Clara  Kathleen  Rogers,  in  her  inter- 
esting book,  "My  Voice  and  I,"  asserts  that  when 
a  brain  impression  of  a  certain  kind  of  sound  is 
received,  the  will  to  reproduce  it  compels  the  vari- 

195 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

ous  mechanisms  to  conform  to  it.  "A  significant 
illustration  of  the  ruling  power  of  sound-percep- 
tion," she  says,  "is  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that 
most  young  singers  are  able  to  effect  a  complete 
change  in  the  quality  of  their  tone  after  hearing 
some  distinguished  public  singer  who  has  made  an 
impression  upon  them.  I  have  heard  a  light  so- 
prano, with  apparently  very  hmited  powers,  sud- 
denly take  on  an  ample,  resonant  quality  of  tone, 
full  of  color  and  vitality,  the  day  after  hearing 
Lehmann  in  the  role  of  Isolde;  and  another  singer, 
with  a  dull,  heavy,  and  hard  voice,  as  suddenly 
achieve  flexibility  and  a  pure,  sympathetic  tone 
after  listening  to  Melba  in  'Lucia';  and  I  could 
cite  dozens  of  similar  instances.  Of  course,  the 
change  thus  effected  in  the  voice  of  a  singer  is  not 
permanent.  It  must  necessarily  be  only  a  tem- 
porary thing,  because  the  mental  impression  of  the 
sound  is  only  ephemeral.  It  grows  fainter  day  by 
day,  and,  as  the  singer  is  constantly  hearing  other 
voices,  the  memory  of  the  better  sound  soon  dies 
out  altogether,  while  the  old  habits  once  more  as- 
sert themselves.  If,  however,  it  were  possible  for 
the  singer  to  remain  during  a  long  period  under 
the  influence  of  the  sound  by  which  he  had  been 
so  strongly  impressed,  the  continuity  of  the  new 
sound-perception  would  certainly  prevail  in  due 
time,  and  cause  new  habits  to  be  formed  in  the 
vocal  processes  themselves." 

If  such  results  can  appear  in  the  culture  of  the 
singing  and  speaking  voice,  then  certainly  one  who 
196 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

studies  to  appreciate  rather  than  to  perforin  will 
find  advantage  in  constantly  seeking  opportuni- 
ties to  hear  sound  that  is  sympathetic  and  sweet. 
In  either  case  it  is  the  brain  that  is  affected,  and  to 
no  slight  degree  does  the  love  of  pure  sound  exert 
an  influence  upon  character.  There  is  a  certain 
refinement  of  nature  back  of  every  tone  that  is 
pure  and  delicate,  and  a  glad  response  to  it  is  the 
evidence  of  a  kindred  grace.  The  Greeks,  most 
sensitive  of  all  men  to  aesthetic  impressions,  ab- 
jured coarse  and  noisy  instruments,  and  chose  as 
their  distinctively  national  instruments  the  tinkling 
lyre  and  soft-murmuring  flute.  It  is  commonly 
accepted  as  one  of  the  signs  of  degeneracy  among 
the  Romans  of  the  empire  that,  with  the  corrup- 
tion of  the  circus  and  theatre,  a  love  for  the  sweetly 
modulated  melodies  of  the  Greeks  faded  out  and 
a  passion  for  harsh  instruments  and  great  masses 
of  players  and  singers  took  its  place.  The  law 
holds  good  in  all  conditions  that  nobility  of  taste 
affirms  itself  in  a  desire  for  simplicity,  moderation, 
and  refined  gradation  and  balance  in  form  and 
color  and  sound.  The  teacher  of  musical  apprecia- 
tion may  justly  give  emphasis  to  this  factor  in  the 
preparation  for  wise  judgments.  There  is  little 
danger  that  his  disciples  will  stop  with  this,  for  a 
finely  trained  ear,  habituated  to  nice  distinctions, 
will  readily  unite  its  acquisitions  to  those  of  the 
understanding  and  the  emotion.  The  culture  of 
the  organs  of  sense  prepares  the  way  for  that  high 
attainment  which  Thoreau  had  in  mind  when,  in 
197 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

happy  consciousness  of  intellectual  progress,  he 
exclaimed : 

"I  hearing  get  who  had  but  ears; 
And  sight,  who  had  but  eyes  before." 


XVI 

There  must  be  a  training  of  the  understanding. 

The  college  instructor  in  the  value  and  the  use 
of  art  faces  a  group  of  young  people  who  should 
need  no  exhortation  to  give  heed  to  the  intellect, 
for  the  thought  that  is  more  persistently  brought  to 
them,  directly  and  indirectly,  than  any  other,  is 
that  they  arc  in  the  place  they  occupy  in  order  that 
they  may  learn  the  uses  of  the  reason,  and  they 
would  naturally  be  disrespectful  toward  any  sub- 
ject that  accomplished  nothing  more  than  the  se- 
duction of  the  senses  and  ephemeral  emotional  ex- 
citement. Indeed,  the  influences  acting  upon  the 
teacher,  for  reasons  already  discussed,  tend  to  in- 
cline him  in  a  direction  that  leads  away  from  those 
soft  abodes  of  delight  where  the  senses  and  the 
affections  take  possession  of  the  reflective  powers 
and  lull  them  into  slumber.  There  is  little  need, 
therefore,  to  exhort  him  to  assign  a  prominent  place 
in  his  system  of  instruction  to  matters  of  technique 
and  form,  but  only  to  remind  him  of  the  proper 
relationship  between  the  several  apartments  in 
which  musical  appreciation  dwells.  He  will  easily 
discover  that  the  sense-perception,  the  inspection 
198 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

by  the  understanding,  and  the  agitation  of  the 
emotional  nature,  theoretically  distinct,  are  in  ex- 
perience blended  in  mutual  action;  that  while  the 
intellect  is  warmed  and  its  exclusive  self-conscious- 
ness, and  self-confidence  too,  is  reduced  by  feeling, 
the  sense-perception  is  not  forsaken  by  the  will, 
and  the  passionate  emotion  is  regulated  by  the 
judgment  and  brought  under  the  guidance  of  the 
reason. 

The  intellect  decides  upon  the  final  value  of  the 
work  which  demands  entrance  through  the  gates 
of  feeling.  It  constitutes  itself  a  court  of  appeal, 
and  its  decrees  become  accepted  precedents.  The 
term  emotion  as  appHed  to  art,  be  it  observed,  does 
not  mean  the  same  as  emotion  aroused  by  personal 
shocks  coming  from  actual  occurrences.  The  cause 
of  the  pleasure  afforded  by  stage  tragedy  has  been 
the  subject  of  much  profound  dissertation  ever 
since  the  days  of  Aristotle,  but  there  is  really  very 
little  mystery  in  the  matter.  The  sadness  that  is 
felt  at  the  death  of  Cordelia  or  Desdemona  is  an 
emotion  which  is  not  left  to  do  its  poignant  work 
alone,  subjugating  every  consciousness  except  that 
of  horror  and  pity,  as  would  be  the  case  in  the  pres- 
ence of  similar  incidents  in  daily  life;  but  an  emo- 
tion that  is  held  up  for  inspection  by  the  critical 
faculty  and  made  to  give  a  reason  for  its  existence, 
which  reason  is  found  in  the  judgment  of  the  per- 
formance as  true  to  the  laws,  not  of  reality,  but  of 
the  drama.  The  feeling  of  depression  is  temporary, 
and  the  enduring  mood  is  one  of  pleasure  over  the 
199 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER   EDUCATION 

poet's  genius  and  the  actor's  skill,  or  it  may  be 
one  of  disapproval  in  view  of  the  inadequacy  of 
the  latter.  Similarly  with  the  emotional  response 
to  a  drama  which  abounds  in  cheerful  situations 
and  amiable  characters  —  the  pleasure  is  not  sim- 
ply because  such  and  such  incidents  occur,  but  be- 
cause the  performance  is  fme. 

In  the  process  of  forming  a  rational  judgment 
concerning  a  work  of  art  there  must  be  a  period 
when  emotion  is  held  in  abeyance  while  the  under- 
standing applies  its  tests.  In  the  case  of  those 
classes  of  works  which  exist  in  space  it  is  possible 
to  suspend  the  action  of  the  feeling  for  an  indefinite 
time,  since  the  fixity  of  the  object  precludes  all 
necessity  of  haste.  A  literary  composition  may 
be  read  as  slowly  as  seems  desirable,  and  it  also 
remains  unchanged  while  the  reader,  if  he  chooses, 
returns  again  and  again  to  a  passage  that  had 
seemed  in  any  way  doubtful.  The  wise  critic  of  a 
building  or  statue  or  painting  or  poem  subjects 
the  work  to  deliberate  scrutiny,  he  examines 
every  detail,  surveys  each  plane  or  shade  or  color 
or  phrase  in  accordance  with  a  standard  furnished 
him  by  his  knowledge  and  lusthctic  convictions, 
builds  up  in  his  mintl  a  counterpart  of  the  visible 
creation,  and  only  when  the  complete  design  has 
been  tested  and  reviewed  does  he  allow  his  pleasure 
or  disaj)proval  to  ])Ccomc  established  and  find  ex- 
pression in  his  words.  In  a  musical  composition, 
heard  for  llic  first  time  in  performance,  this  pre- 
liminary analysis  is  impossible.     The  hearer  can- 

2CX) 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

not  say,  as  before  a  picture,  "I  will  examine  this 
calmly  before  I  allow  myself  to  enjoy  or  condemn," 
for  no  such  respite  is  allowed  him.  No  two  phrases 
present  themselves  at  the  same  instant  for  com- 
parison on  even  terms.  Only  by  means  of  the 
memory  can  such  comparison  be  made,  and  even 
with  the  most  retentive  mind  the  disadvantage  is 
serious,  for  as  the  phrases  pass  in  swift  succession 
their  echo  in  the  memory  becomes  ever  fainter, 
and  sooner  or  later  vanishes  altogether  down  the 
dim  corridors.  No  wonder  that  many  contend 
that  the  criticism  of  musical  works  at  the  first 
hearing  is  absolutely  untrustworthy,  because  the 
obstacles  to  reflective  judgment  are  insuperable. 

Nevertheless,  the  case  is  not  quite  so  hopeless  as 
at  first  glance  it  appears.  The  music,  indeed, 
passes  like  a  gust,  and  we  cannot  arrest  its  flight 
for  a  reinspection  of  its  elements;  but  works  of 
musical  art  can  be  classified,  and  by  study  of  other 
compositions  and  the  principles  upon  which  the 
art  rests  we  can  establish  in  our  minds  a  certain 
number  of  types,  and  be  ready  to  apply  any  one  of 
them  to  the  work  in  hand.  As  a  result  of  acquaint- 
ance with  the  standard  musical  forms  we  have  in 
consciousness,  we  might  say,  a  number  of  frames, 
to  one  of  which  we  apply  the  particular  work  be- 
fore us.  If  the  work  is  made  according  to  strict 
classic  pattern  it  will  fit  the  frame;  if  not,  then  the 
divergencies  from  type,  because  they  are  diver- 
gencies, will  be  intelHgible.  So  with  the  more  un- 
certain problems  of  style  and  character  —  the  title, 

20I 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

class,  associated  ideas,  medium  and  circumstances 
of  performance,  practical  uses  for  which  the  com- 
position was  designed,  or  any  of  the  numerous 
conditions  that  guided  the  composer's  invention, 
give  us  occasion  to  draw  upon  our  stores  of  knowl- 
edge, and  enable  us  thereby  to  apply  a  criterion 
which  will  serve  us  as  at  least  a  safeguard  against 
total  error. 

The  teacher,  therefore,  has  a  large  field  in  which 
the  powers  of  observation,  analysis,  co-ordination, 
and  comparison  are  summoned  into  exercise.  Ev- 
erything in  a  composer's  activity  which  calls  forth 
a  deliberate  intellectual  process  (and  the  propor- 
tion is  large)  is  itself  to  be  appreciated  by  the 
employment  of  similar  faculties.  The  instructor 
lays  emphasis  upon  these  things  of  technique  not 
simply  that  the  feeling  of  his  pupils  may  be  forti- 
fied by  the  intellect,  and  that  they  may  thus  escape 
the  deterioration  which  might  result  from  the  sur- 
render of  the  emotion  to  blind  impulse,  having  no 
touchstone  to  separate  between  the  strong  and 
noble  and  the  paltry  and  base  —  not  that  alone, 
but  also  that  they  may  find  pleasure  in  the  exercise 
of  the  intelligence  itself.  No  art  worthy  the  name 
is  lacking  in  a  basis  of  science,  and  the  greater  the 
art  the  more  the  claim  that  is  made  upon  the  facul- 
ties that  measure,  compare,  and  judge.  The  true 
musical  connoisseur  perceives  that  in  structure  and 
design,  the  craftsman's  patient  skill,  the  proportion, 
arlaptation,  and  balance  of  parts,  the  attainment  of 
unity  amid  profusion,  there  is  something  that  may 
202 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

be  likened  to  wisdom  and  morality  in  the  com- 
poser's control  of  his  passionate  impulses  in  the 
grip  of  his  judgment  and  his  iron  will. 

As  a  result  of  this  discipline  the  hearer  gains  a 
double  benefit.  As  the  work  of  genius  passes 
through  his  mind  it  organizes  itself  while  it  gathers 
volume,  its  resounding  waves  leave  images  which 
coalesce  into  logical  significance;  and  then,  further- 
more, the  fortunate  Kstener  retains  the  music  in 
his  memory  as  a  living  whole,  it  remains  a  lasting 
addition  to  his  mental  treasure,  which  a  mere  flash 
of  tone  colors,  or  a  confused  succession  of  unre- 
lated emotional  disturbances,  can  never  be. 

XVII 

Last  and  greatest  of  all,  there  is  the  education 
of  the  feeling  —  that  unstable  element  which,  en- 
dowed with  the  clairvoyant  power  of  intuition, 
reads  the  inner  secret  of  the  sounding  forms  and 
discovers  the  final  purpose  of  their  existence.  In 
the  evidence  of  the  emotion  is  the  proof  of  music's 
worth.  Can  we,  by  any  process  of  analysis,  ex- 
plain this  mystic  power  of  divination,  increase  its 
sensitiveness,  and  use  it  to  the  enrichment  of  our 
life  ?  Is  the  task  of  the  instructor  arrested  at  this 
point,  or  can  he  still  continue  to  guide  and  inspire  ? 

The  supreme  mystery  of  music  lies  in  the  fact 

that  its  extraordinary  power  of  driving  us  out  of 

our  usual  condition  of  mind,  and  awaking  in  us  the 

most  vivid  emotions  of  delight  and  awe,  is  accom- 

203 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

plished  by  an  agency  that  is  wholly  devoid  of  any 
of  those  concepts,  images,  and  reminders  which  the 
other  arts  are  compelled  to  use.  Those  arts  act 
indirectly  upon  the  emotion  by  means  of  ideas 
that  are  identical  with  or  analogous  to  ideas  with 
which  we  are  already  acquainted.  No  object  in 
a  picture,  no  sculptured  figure,  is  absolutely  new 
in  the  sense  that  it  bears  no  resemblance,  in  the 
whole  or  in  its  parts,  to  anything  we  have  ever 
seen;  the  words  and  images  of  poetry  must  be 
reminiscent  of  previous  acquaintance  or  else  they 
are  unintelligible.  A  musical  phrase,  however,  has 
no  counterpart  in  our  experience;  it  is  unprece- 
dented and  unique.  Its  action  upon  our  feeling 
is  direct,  not  indirect.  This  would  seem  to  imply 
that  music  can  have  no  meaning,  for  in  the  acquisi- 
tion of  knowledge  we  proceed  from  the  known  to 
the  unknown,  and  nothing  can  be  understood  ex- 
cept as  it  is  able  to  attach  itself  to  something  that 
is  already  a  part  of  our  mental  property.  And  yet 
when  we  surrender  ourselves  to  the  ravishments  of 
music  it  comes  to  us  as  admirably  defmite,  con- 
vincing, and  real;  and  this  sense  of  rcahty,  as  of 
something  long  sought  and  complete  in  the  satis- 
faction it  gives,  seems  to  us  suflicicnt  proof  that 
there  is  something  in  our  nature  to  which  music 
attaches  itself,  and  that,  too,  without  those  delays 
wliich  our  ordinary  intellectual  processes,  depend- 
ing upon  experience  and  effort,  entail.  In  this 
eager  greeting  of  music  as  something  native  to  our 
souls,  it  is  the  intuition  that  is  summoned,  and  its 
204 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

answer  is  unhesitating,  free  even  from  all  knowl- 
edge of  the  means  by  which  this  acquaintance  was 
acquired. 

This  element  which  the  soul  takes  spontaneously 
to  itself,  as  two  drops  of  water  flow  into  one  another, 
baffles  the  searcher  after  its  origin,  and  yet  it  is 
the  spirit  which  gives  to  all  forms  of  art  their  power 
over  the  affections  of  men.     We  speak  of  the  soul 
of  art  which  is  manifest  in  beauty,  and  go  no  fur- 
ther in  our  account  of  it,  for  the  words  soul  and 
beauty  repel  all  attempts  at  defmition.     We  know 
them,  but  we  know  them  by  ways  and  means  that 
cannot  be  stated  in  formulas.    This  essence,  when 
it  appears  in  music,  because  it  lives  only  in  airy 
vibrations,  seems  whoUy  disembodied,  and  the  world 
in  which  it  moves  is  a  world  otherwise  unexplored. 
The  other  arts  must  employ  forms  and  materials 
which  are  associated  in  our  minds  with  uses  apart 
from  those  of  pure  conveyance  of  impressions  of 
beauty.    The  beauty  is  something  added  to  agen- 
cies of  utility  which  at  other  times  and  under  other 
needs  may  exist  without  it.     Thus,  a  building  re- 
ceives an  adornment  which  is  superfluous  from  the 
point  of  view  of  its  practical  service  as  an  abode 
or  a  place  of  business  transaction.     Implements 
devised  for  any  kind  of  usefulness  add  painted  or 
carven  ornament  for  the  sake  of  another  service 
more  ideal.     Even  when  sculpture  and  painting 
are  employed  only  for  art's  sake  they  must  perforce 
draw  their  forms  from  the  visible  world  —  forms 
which  bring  with  them  associations  that  are  com- 
205 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

monplace.  Even  color,  which  in  pictures  is  the 
artist's  color  rather  than  nature's,  cannot  be  used 
alone  but  is  an  overlay  upon  forms  which  only 
give  coherence  and  reality.  Language  was  de- 
veloped under  the  compulsion  of  every-day  needs, 
and  in  the  guise  of  poetry  acts  through  images  or 
suggestion  of  things  which  originally  had  a  more 
humble  part  in  individual  and  social  economy. 

In  music,  on  the  contrary,  this  untranslatable 
message  that  passes  from  the  artist's  feeling  to  our 
own  comes  to  us  completely  disengaged  from  every 
medium  that  has  the  power  of  adaptation  to  the 
ends  of  utility.  Its  materials  are  never  used  for 
any  other  purpose  but  its  own.  Music  is  not 
something  made  beautiful,  it  is  itself  beauty.  Its 
forms  are  abstract  proportions  of  time  and  pitch; 
its  subject-matter  "series  and  combinations  of 
sounds,  wholly  independent  of  external  phenomena 
and  external  utility,  and  having  no  existence  inde- 
pendent of  art"  (Edmund  Gurney).  This  element 
of  pure  art  suggests  no  antithesis  of  form  and  ex- 
pression and  is  in  and  by  itself  alone  the  sufficient 
object  of  contemplation.  The  other  arts  are  emis- 
saries from  the  world  of  sense  and  action  —  music 
suggests  no  operation  of  the  will  upon  inert  matter, 
its  substance  is  an  ethereal  substance,  which  reaches 
that  which  is  most  inexplicable  within  us  and  fmds 
no  imi)cdiment  in  the  transition  from  the  outward 
to  the  inward.  There  is  no  trace  of  earthly  alloy 
in  this  impalpable  stream.  Of  the  two  categories, 
space  and  time,  upon  which  our  knowledge  of  the 
206 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

outer  world  depends,  one  of  them,  space,  is  elimi- 
nated. These  pure  currents,  existing  only  in  dura- 
tion, bathe  our  souls  with  a  refreshment  such  as 
no  other  aesthetic  experience  affords,  and  equally 
unique  is  the  ecstasy  with  which  the  soul  springs 
to  its  embrace. 

What  is  the  source  and  composition  of  this 
ecstasy?  Can  it  be  developed  and  directed  ?  What 
is  its  effect  upon  the  character  of  the  individual? 
—  for  to  say  that  this  emotion  is  transient  is  con- 
trary to  fact,  since  there  is  no  mental  experience 
but  leaves  a  lasting  imprint  upon  the  character. 
That  it  is  accepted  with  an  unparalleled  frankness 
and  whole-heartedness  is  proof  of  its  correspond- 
ence with  some  inherent  craving  of  the  soul  and 
therefore  of  its  reality  and  value.  Can  this  in- 
stinctive response  to  the  cry  of  music  be  made 
more  sensitive,  intelligent,  and  cordial  ?  In  a  word, 
can  the  emotional  nature,  so  far  as  it  is  affected  by 
music,  be  made  the  object  of  cultivation? 


XVIII 

In  the  first  place,  the  guide  to  musical  apprecia- 
tion can  perform  a  negative  service  —  not  less  im- 
portant on  that  account  —  of  showing  what  the 
emotional  ofhce  of  music  is  not.  It  surely  is  desir- 
able that  emotion  should  not  be  ruled  by  false  be- 
liefs, or  overflow  with  a  volume  that  is  far  in  excess 
of  its  cause,  for  in  that  consists  the  vice  called  senti- 
207 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

mentalism.     There  must  be  no  conflict  between 
emotion  and  intelligence. 

Difficulties  at  once  strike  the  teacher  when  he 
enters  upon  the  subject  of  musical  expression.  He 
cannot  avoid  using  the  term,  for,  although  it  has 
been  strenuously  maintained  by  certain  writers 
who  assume  to  speak  with  authority  that  music 
has  no  representative  or  even  expressive  power, 
that  it  consists  of  "sounding  arabesques,"  mere 
decoration,  empty  of  thought,  nevertheless,  this 
opinion  is  instinctively  rejected  because  it  is  unable 
to  account  for  the  extraordinary  exaltation  of  mood 
producible  by  music,  as  if  a  veil  were  flung  aside 
revealing  a  world  supremely  fair  in  which  the 
spirit  feels  the  confidence  of  a  wanderer  returned  to 
his  native  land.  May  it  not  be,  however,  that  this 
confidence  is  a  delusion  and  that  music  has  noth- 
ing positive  to  give  us?  When  we  say  that  music 
is  expressive,  do  we  intend  the  word  to  be  taken 
in  its  common  meaning,  as  when  we  say  that  a 
picture  is  expressive?  Should  we  not  say  rather 
that  the  music  is  impressive,  and  is  not  the  sup- 
posed expressiveness  due  rather  to  associations 
arbitrarily  imposed?  Is  not  our  experience  when 
hearing  music,  after  all,  purely  a  musical  experi- 
ence and  nothing  more? 

In  forms  of  art  or  natural  objects  to  which  we 
cust(;marily  apply  the  term  expressive  we  distin- 
guish two  factors,  viz.,  the  object  heard  or  seen 
and  the  thing  or  idea  expressed.  A  face,  for  ex- 
ample, may  express  joy  or  grief.  We  see  the  face 
208 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

by  direct  perception;  the  joy  or  grief  we  do  not 
see,  but  we  infer  it  from  the  lines  in  the  face.  We 
know  that  the  same  face  may  have  different  ex- 
pressions at  different  times  —  the  face  therefore 
is  one  thing,  the  expression  another. 

So  with  a  work  of  art  —  it  may  interest  for  either 
of  two  reasons :  first  because  it  affords  an  agreeable 
arrangement  of  lines  and  colors,  or  second  because 
it  conveys  an  idea  that  is  in  itself  worthy  of  con- 
sideration. The  beauty  and  the  expression  may 
be  so  closely  united  that  we  hardly  distinguish  one 
from  the  other,  as  a  face  that  is  regular  in  feature 
and  charming  in  tint  may  express  kindliness  or 
contentment,  and  we  hardly  consider  whether  the 
beauty  is  in  the  form  or  the  virtue  that  shines 
through  it.  On  the  other  hand,  a  face  may  be 
plain  or  even  ugly  in  feature  and  yet  so  irradiated 
with  noble  character  or  lofty  intellect  as  to  take 
on  a  beauty  that  we  feel  to  be  of  the  highest  order. 
Such  was  the  face  of  Abraham  Lincoln ;  such  is  the 
beauty  of  the  grandfather's  countenance  in  the 
famous  picture  of  the  old  man  and  the  child  by 
Ghirlandajo.  Poetry  is  supremely  an  art  of  ex- 
pression, and  yet  there  are  lines  that  give  pleasure 
by  the  very  sound  of  the  vowels,  the  harmony  of 
the  rhymes,  and  the  swing  and  cadence  of  the 
rhythm,  apart  from  their  significance.  The  Italian 
language  is  commonly  regarded  as  beautiful  even 
by  those  who  do  not  understand  a  word  of  it. 

"In  all  expression,"  says  Professor  Santayana, 
"we  may  distinguish  two  terms  —  the  first  is  the 
209 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

object  actually  presented,  the  word,  the  image, 
the  expressive  thing;  the  second  is  the  object  sug- 
gested, the  further  thought,  emotion,  or  image 
evoked.  These  lie  together  in  the  mind,  and  their 
union  constitutes  expression."  Now,  if  the  object 
presented  were  literally  expressive  we  should  be 
able  to  separate  these  quahties  in  thought.  The 
qualities  that  make  a  thing  beautiful  to  the  sense 
are  inherent  in  the  thing  itself,  they  are  an  essen- 
tial part  of  its  very  nature,  while  the  expressional 
significance  is  attributed  to  it  out  of  our  knowledge 
or  experience  of  life.  When  the  idea  is  so  tightly 
enwrapped  in  the  very  nature  of  the  object  that 
we  always  identify  one  with  the  other,  we  do  not 
speak  of  the  quality  as  being  expressed  by  the  ob- 
ject. We  do  not  say  that  a  sphere  expresses  round- 
ness —  a  sphere  is  round ;  it  would  not  be  a  sphere 
if  it  were  not  round.  A  clear  sky  does  not  express 
blueness,  but  it  is  blue.  To  a  Gloucester  fisher- 
man who  has  seen  his  friends  drowned  before  his 
eyes  in  a  gale,  the  ocean  may  seem  to  express 
cruelty;  it  docs  not  express  wetness  or  even  im- 
mensity —  it  is  wet,  it  is  immense. 

It  is  evident  that  we  may  have  great  beauty 
with  very  feeble  expression,  and  intense  expression 
with  little  or  no  formal  beauty.  A  vast  number 
of  art  objects  are  simply  ornamental  or  decorative 

—  the  vases  on  our  shelves,  the  designs  of  tapes- 
tries, the  jewels  that  we  wear,  wood,  stone,  and 
metal  carvings,  etc.     One  of  the  noblest  of  the  arts 

—  architecture  —  is,    strictly     speaking,    almost 

210 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

wholly  a  presentative  art.  Architecture  is  cer- 
tainly not  wholly  devoid  of  expression.  A  church 
spire  may  be  thought  to  express  aspiration.  There 
is  a  feeling  that  may  be  verbally  described  in  the 
majestic  vaults  and  gloomy  crypts  of  a  Gothic  or 
Romanesque  cathedral.  St.  Peter's  Church  may 
be  said  to  express  the  pride  of  the  pope  who  built 
it.  This  expression  in  architecture,  however,  is 
to  'a  large  extent  conventional,  traditional,  and 
associative,  not  the  evidence  of  temperament  or 
mood  on  the  part  of  the  architect  —  and  certainly 
not  representative.  It  is  essentially  imputed  by 
the  beholder,  very  much  as  the  moods  attributed 
to  nature  are  reflected  moods. 

The  relation  between  form  and  expression  is 
more  arbitrary  in  painting  than  in  architecture, 
since  the  two  terms  do  not  so  completely  penetrate 
each  other.  The  f  eehng  is  not  so  inevitably  aroused 
by  the  very  fact  of  the  art's  existence,  for  the  painter 
may  put  his  own  individuaUty  into  the  work,  and 
is  not  so  much  confined  to  a  conventional  track  by 
his  material  and  subject-matter.  Gothic  churches 
always  convey  the  same  emotional  impression;  but 
two  landscape-painters,  working  side  by  side,  will 
often  suggest  widely  different  states  of  feehng,  each 
laying  his  own  personal  emphasis,  drawing  out 
from  the  objects  before  him  that  quality  which  is 
in  correspondence  with  his  own  character.  Even 
in  portrait-painting  this  holds  true:  Franz  Hals  and 
Rembrandt  may  paint  the  same  sitter  —  each  pic- 
ture will  not  only  indicate  the  character  of  the 
model  but  will  also  betray  that  of  the  artist. 

2H 


MUSIC  AND   THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

XIX 

Now,  what  is  the  truth  in  respect  to  the  art  of 
music?  When  we  speak  of  expression  in  music 
what  do  we  mean  by  the  term?  Do  we  mean  an 
impression  that  is  inherent  in  the  art,  inevitable 
by  very  reason  of  the  form  itself?  Or  an  expres- 
sion that  might  be  conveyed  by  any  one  of  a  num- 
ber of  forms,  separable  in  thought  from  the  object 
perceived  and  attachable  to  another,  as  in  poetry  ? 
The  answer  will  have  much  to  do  with  the  means 
that  are  taken  to  increase  the  emotional  response 
and  with  the  result  accomplished. 

It  is  certain  that  a  great  amount  of  music  is 
comparable  to  ornamental  decoration  —  its  inter- 
est lies  in  graceful,  ingenious  play  of  tones,  express- 
ive, if  at  all,  as  any  movement  is  expressive  which 
conveys  ideas  of  health,  freshness,  and  buoyancy, 
arousing  pleasure  like  that  produced  by  running 
waters  sparkling  in  the  sun,  or  the  racing  of  clouds 
on  a  June  morning.  Such  experiences  do  not  pro- 
mote introspection,  but  rather  the  contrary.  Al- 
most all  of  the  eighteenth-century  harpsichord 
music  is  of  this  type,  much  of  ninctccnth-ccntury 
piano  music,  and  a  large  proportion  of  Italian  opera 
melody  in  all  times.  In  a  very  large  amount  of 
the  religious  music  of  Handel  and  Mendelssohn, 
even  of  J.  S.  Bach,  there  would  be  no  suggestion 
of  any  deep  feeling  if  the  recollection  of  the  text 
were  removed.  In  the  church  music  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  on   the  other  hand,  we  discover 

212 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

profound  expression,  but  it  is  an  expression  in- 
herent in  music  of  this  particular  type,  not  de- 
rived from  the  pious  aspiration  of  this  or  that 
composer  —  for  the  feeHng  might  or  might  not  be 
strong  within  him;  while  in  a  vast  quantity  of  the 
vocal,  orchestral,  chamber,  and  piano  music  of  the 
past  one  hundred  years,  even  in  opera,  we  find 
utterances  that  are  unmistakably  personal,  which 
we  cannot  refuse  to  call  expressive,  and  often  ex- 
pressive to  a  very  definite  degree.  But  even  in 
works  of  the  most  pronounced  individual  character 
the  music  does  not  acquire  the  powers  of  exact 
representation  possessed  by  words  and  pictures,  it 
does  not  add  to  our  knowledge  of  history,  every- 
day life,  or  outward  nature.  Music  creates  its 
forms  within  itself  and  groups  them  in  accordance 
with  its  own  apart  and  inner  laws,  and  the  thoughts 
and  moods  aroused  are  musical  moods.  But  are 
they  nothing  but  musical  moods? 

Now  comes  the  curious  fact  that  many  people 
are  not  wilUng  to  accept  a  complete  separation 
between  the  domain  of  music  and  the  spheres  of 
language  and  picture.  They  constantly  incline  to 
interpret  music  as  an  actual  reflex  of  things  seen, 
or  as  expressive  of  precise  feelings.  In  the  first 
case  music,  through  some  mysterious  correspond- 
ence, real  or  imaginary,  stimulates  the  visualizing 
faculty,  and  images,  recalled  from  experience  or 
revived  out  of  sunken  regions  of  romance,  spring 
into  being  at  the  touch  of  musical  sounds.  Ribot 
declares  that  people  who  are  inclined  to  musical 
213 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

visualization  are  weak  in  genuine  musical  endow- 
ment. This  may  be  generally  true,  but  not  always. 
Schumann  was  a  visualizer,  or  else  pretended  to  be 
for  his  own  amusement  and  the  mystification  of 
others.  The  significance  of  this  tendency  has  been 
set  forth  at  length  elsewhere,*  and  need  not  detain 
us  here.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  a  belief  in  a 
literal  representative  power  in  music  has  no  rational 
foundation,  and  an  encouragement  of  it  is  much 
more  Ukely  to  degrade  than  to  elevate  musical  ex- 
perience. 

Far  more  worthy  of  respect  is  the  belief  that 
music  has  the  power  to  express  and  to  excite 
emotions,  and  in  that  power  lies  its  noblest  serv- 
ice. The  definitions  of  music  given  by  many 
famous  scholars  imply  this.  It  would,  perhaps, 
be  rash  to  deny  this  ability  on  the  part  of 
music,  for  we  know  that  men  arc  often  moved 
not  merely  to  contemplation  but  to  positive  action 
by  musical  strains;  but  the  more  we  examine  this 
opinion  the  more  inclined  are  we  to  question  its 
validity.  A  face  can  be  made  by  a  painter  to  ex- 
press love,  fear,  anger,  compassion,  hope,  or  one 
of  many  emotions,  each  of  which  may  be  distinctly 
differentiated  from  any  other,  but  can  a  composer 
do  the  same?  The  painter  accomplishes  this  feat 
because  he  can  put  the  lines  of  the  countenance 
into  relations  which  are  associated  in  our  obser- 
vation or  experience  with  particular  feelings,  but 

*  The  Education  of  a  Music  Lover,  chap.  IX. 
214 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

are  there  any  musical  forms  that  compel  similar 
inevitable  associations  ? 

We  must  hold  by  the  fact  that  the  words  emo- 
tional and  expressive  are  not  identical  in  their  con- 
notations. A  piece  of  music  may  be  strong  on  the 
emotional  side  and  weak  on  the  expressive  side,  and 
vice  versa.  A  few  tones  produced  by  a  great  vio- 
linist may  bring  tears  to  the  eyes  (but  not  tears  of 
grief,  be  it  observed),  while  it  would  be  impossible 
to  distinguish  in  them  any  reference  to  a  visible 
image  or  definite  thought.  Where  there  is  a  real 
connection  between  a  musical  work  and  precise 
feelings  that  belong  to  actual  characters  and  events, 
this  connection  is  due  to  an  association  of  ideas  that 
has  been  mechanically  produced.  Siegfried's  dirge 
in  ''The  Ring  of  the  Nibelung"  conveys  with  won- 
derful power  the  thought  of  glory  and  happiness 
followed  by  ruin  and  dismay,  but  it  is  able  to  do 
this  because  the  motives  of  which  it  is  composed 
have  been  definitely  connected  with  events  in  Sieg- 
fried's life  which  have  occurred  in  earlier  portions 
of  the  drama. 

And  yet  when  we  listen  to  great  music  the  very 
deeps  of  our  emotional  nature  seem  to  be  moved, 
as  the  ocean  waters  are  heaved  by  the  storm. 
The  language  of  Berhoz  is  hardly  extravagant: 
"Music  associates  itself  with  ideas  which  it  has  a 
thousand  means  of  calling  into  action,  uniting  at 
times  all  its  forces  upon  the  ear  which  it  charms, 
upon  the  nervous  system  which  it  excites,  upon  the 
circulation  of  the  blood  which  it  accelerates,  upon 

215 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

the  heart  which  it  dilates,  upon  the  thought  which 
it  immeasurably  enlarges  and  hurls  into  the  re- 
gions of  the  infinite."  These  disturbances  in  the 
physical  organism,  accompanied  by  profound  psy- 
chic changes  —  ideas  of  grandeur,  tenderness,  re- 
sistless motion,  vast  spaces,  religious  aspiration,  or 
what-not  —  these  emotions  are  far  more  lasting 
and  precious  than  any  superficial  excitement  of 
the  nerves  could  be,  and  they  may  also  be  aroused 
by  music  that  is  extremely  quiet  and  simple. 
Indeed,  the  emotional  nature  is  often  most  deeply 
affected  by  strains  in  which  physical  agitation  is 
reduced  to  the  lowest  terms,  as  in  certain  calm  un- 
adorned melodies  of  the  great  masters  which  seem 
to  us  like  monitory  voices  from  the  eternal  depths. 
Even  when  such  strains  are  soundless,  merely  re- 
called in  memory,  they  can  convey  to  us  impressions 
of  vast  bulk,  force,  or  passion.  John  Addington 
Symonds,  standing  reverently  before  the  sublime 
allegorical  figures  of  Michelangelo  in  the  sacristy 
of  San  Lorenzo,  was  reminded  of  phrases  by  Beetho- 
ven. It  requires  no  long  reflection  to  discover  that 
these  effects  are  not  due  to  the  suggestion  of  definite 
images  or  even  precise  emotions.  In  fact,  there  is 
no  emotion  thought  of  abstractly,  apart  from  any 
person  who  entertains  it  or  event  which  causes  it, 
that  can  so  disturb  the  soul  with  this  sense  of 
beauty,  pathos,  and  delight.  Indeed,  we  pay  a 
poor  tribute  to  the  art  of  music  when  we  feci  forced 
to  levy  upon  the  subject-matter  belonging  to  the 
other  arts  for  means  of  its  interpretation.  We  talk 
216 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

about  emotions  of  fear,  anger,  desire,  etc.,  as  ex- 
pressed by  music  and  excited  by  music,  but  in  truth 
they  are  Scheingefiihle  (mock  feelings)  —  intensely 
real,  indeed,  but  not  those  that  belong  to  the  world 
of  action.  There  is  never  any  separation  in  thought 
between  the  imagined  emotion  and  the  beauty  of 
the  music,  and  when  we  let  the  imagined  emotion 
go,  the  music  still  remains  as  beautiful,  yes,  as 
grand,  as  touching,  as  salutary,  as  before. 

Certainly  we  deceive  ourselves  when  we  believe 
that  it  is  some  special  representation  of  a  concrete 
idea  that  gives  us  our  pleasure  in  music  rather  than 
its  quality  as  good  composition.  The  story  of  the 
Prodigal  Son  may  be  painted  ill,  but  we  are  able 
to  look  beyond  the  inadequate  execution  to  the 
eternal  truth  of  the  idea;  but  in  music  no  such 
dissolution  of  thought  and  form  is  possible.  The 
more  music  aims  at  reaHstic  expression,  the  less  is 
its  value  as  music.  Imitative  music  may  strive 
to  reproduce  the  actual  sounds  of  nature,  but  if  it 
succeeds  it  is  music  no  longer.  A  shriek  or  a  groan 
is  more  expressive  than  any  musical  tone  can  pos- 
sibly be.  A  commonplace  succession  of  lugubrious 
tones  cannot  make  us  feel  sad,  nor  a  rattling  series 
of  noisy  and  empty  phrases  make  us  mirthful. 
Moreover,  when  we  strive  to  interpret  music  in 
terms  of  emotion  we  run  into  a  very  obstinate 
dilemma,  for  a  musical  piece  of  any  considerable 
length  is  incessantly  changing  its  rhythmic  and 
dynamic  effects,  and  if  we  try  to  feel  the  emotions 
it  is  supposed  to  render  we  are  kept  in  a  perpetual 
217 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

see-saw  of  contradictory  moods.  A  piece  may  at 
one  moment  give  us  slow  notes,  at  another  quick 
ones,  now  it  runs  high,  now  low,  now  it  is  soft, 
now  loud,  now  sombre,  now  brilliant,  now  quiet 
in  rhythm,  now  impetuous  —  if  the  composer  is 
bent  on  portraying  precise  feelings,  why  this  dis- 
order? If  we  imagine  a  definite  series  of  ideas, 
where  is  the  logic,  the  unity?  But  when  we  look 
at  it  as  a  work  of  musical  art,  obeying  not  poetic  or 
pictorial  but  musical  laws,  we  may  find  an  admirable 
order,  its  afilucnt  variety  falling  into  coherent  sys- 
tem, quite  exempt  from  the  contradiction  that  en- 
sues if  we  seek  for  images  and  moods  drawn  from 
actual  Ufe  within  its  shifting  periods. 

XX 

When  the  arguments  are  before  us  and  we 
are  ready  to  admit  that  to  ascribe  expressiveness 
to  music  is  a  juggling  with  words,  suddenly  a  re- 
sistless tide  of  glorious  music  sweeps  over  us  and 
we  are  carried  away  from  the  bases  of  philosophy 
which  we  thought  we  had  laid  so  firmly,  and  there 
seems  nothing  within  or  around  us  but  a  world  of 
feeUng  —  feeling  that  is  not  illusion  but  real.  We 
have  no  account  to  give  of  such  experiences  except 
in  terms  drawn  from  the  language  of  feeling.  The 
music  comes  from  something  which  has  the  reality 
of  duration  and  creative  force,  and  it  assails  a  life 
which  seems  to  us  for  the  moment  the  most  actual 
that  our  nature  contains.     We  refuse  to  believe 

218 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

that  this  music  is  not  expressive;  on  the  contrary 
it  seems  the  most  truly  expressive  and  significant 
thing  in  all  the  world. 

In  this  conviction  we  are  undoubtedly  correct. 
Music  is  not  isolated  from  mental  states  which 
exist  before  and  after  its  sounds  appear.  But  how 
shall  we  prove  this  ?  How  can  we  so  commend  the 
art  of  tone  to  others  that  those  who  insist  on  per- 
manent values  as  a  condition  of  acceptance  of  aes- 
thetic impressions  will  consent  to  receive  music 
as  an  emissary  from  life?  If  one  hesitates  to  be- 
lieve that  music  can  directly  excite  or  express  defi- 
nite moods,  may  we  not  find  a  way  of  escape  from 
our  difiiculty  in  the  undeniable  power  of  music  to 
ally  itself  with  particular  sentiments  and  ideas  and 
intensify  the  emotional  effect  which  they  normally 
produce  ? 

Illustrations  multiply  as  soon  as  we  turn  our 
thought  in  this  direction.  Nowhere  is  this  intensi- 
fying quaUty  in  music  more  apparent  than  when 
it  is  employed  in  religious  worship.  We  enter  a 
church  for  a  purpose  so  simple  and  distinct  that 
the  expectation  of  what  is  to  follow  our  entrance 
prepares  a  state  of  mind  which  is  pecuHarly  sen- 
sitive and  open  to  impressions  of  a  special  order. 
The  place,  the  time,  the  occasion,  the  recollections 
that  throng  upon  us,  all  unite  to  prepare  a  desire 
to  be  further  worked  upon  by  any  agency  that  will 
increase  the  sense  of  awe  and  reverence  which  is 
not  only  becoming,  but  a  duty,  in  anticipation  of 
the  solemn  act  of  faith.  Such  an  agency,  of  pre- 
219 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

eminent  ejQ5cacy,  is  found  in  music.  The  surging 
chords  of  the  organ,  the  chanting  of  the  choristers, 
purge  our  spirits  of  any  alloy  of  worldliness,  and 
*'the  tides  of  music's  golden  sea  setting  toward 
eternity"  carry  us  into  regions  where  the  experi- 
ence is  so  intense  and  all-absorbing  that  everything 
that  had  seemed  real  in  the  common  events  and 
activities  of  our  lives  shrinks  and  fades  into  the 
inane.  The  intensifying  action  of  music  is  so  great 
that  neither  word  nor  picture  can  vie  with  it  in 
vividness  and  reality. 

The  enormous  effects  of  music  upon  the  sensi- 
bility are  often  contingent  upon  a  preparedness  of 
mood.  Washington  Irving,  wandering  amid  the 
cloisters  and  tombs  of  Westminster  Abbey,  op- 
pressed by  "the  stillness,  the  desertion  and  ob- 
scurity," meditating  upon  the  strange  vicissitudes 
of  life  and  their  inevitable  issue,  haunted  by  the 
sombre  suggestions  enforced  by  the  "strange  mix- 
ture of  tombs  and  trophies,"  the  "emblems  of  liv- 
ing and  aspiring  ambition,  close  beside  mementos 
which  show  the  dust  and  oblivion  in  which  all 
must  sooner  or  later  terminate,"  seats  himself  be- 
side the  tomb  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  and  sur- 
renders himself  to  the  weird  impressions  that  per- 
vade the  dim  and  silent  atmosphere.  Suddenly 
the  tones  of  the  organ  burst  upon  his  ear,  alternat- 
ing with  the  voices  of  the  choir,  affording  the  one 
clement  needed  to  fill  the  current  of  emotion  and 
fix  at  once  and  for  a  lifetime  the  one  commanding 
impression  which  this  fane,  the  most  mournful  and 

220 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

glorious  upon  earth,  imposes  upon  every  visitor 
with  subduing  power. 

So  with  patriotic  music,  war  songs,  home  songs  in 
foreign  lands  —  the  energy  with  which  they  seize 
upon  moods  which  recollections  or  longings  have 
evoked,  and  drive  them  often  to  the  limit  of  joy 
or  grief,  are  beyond  the  scope  of  any  other  art  or 
language. 

Such  effects  as  these  are  to  a  large  extent  due 
to  association  of  ideas,  direct  or  indirect,  personal 
or  inherited,  particular  or  general.  Even  when 
dislodged  from  its  connection  with  the  actual  situ- 
ation with  which  and  for  which  the  musical  strains 
were  produced,  the  melody,  serving  as  a  reminder, 
will  thrust  the  mind  vigorously  in  a  particular 
direction,  and  tones,  which  apart  and  unrelated 
would  possess  but  little  interest,  will  often  draw 
with  them  a  crowd  of  sacred  reminiscences  which 
nerve  or  vmnerve  the  resolution,  until  for  a  time 
the  man  becomes  another  than  his  ordinary  self 
through  the  exaltation  of  one  of  the  elements  of 
his  composite  nature.  But  we  must  not  suppose 
that  this  result  comes  from  the  mere  presence  in 
the  mind  of  some  affecting  idea,  as  though  the 
function  of  the  music  were  no  other  than  to  heighten 
the  recollection.  The  secret  hangs  rather  upon 
the  mysterious  property  in  music  itself,  so  that 
we  might  almost  say  that  the  idea  strengthens  the 
music  rather  than  the  music  the  idea.  We  some- 
times say  that  the  music  of  patriotic  or  rehgious 
songs  when  played  upon  instruments  produces  its 

221 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

emotional  effect  by  reason  of  its  association  with 
the  words,  but  what  could  the  words  do  without 
the  music?  How  feeble  an  exercise  is  responsive 
reading  in  church  service !  Imagine  an  army  going 
into  battle  reciting  "Die  Wacht  am  Rhein"  or  the 
"Marseillaise"  !  So  in  the  mass  they  sing  "Kyrie 
eleison"  and  "Gloria  in  excelsis  Deo,"  not  because 
there  is  a  pleasure  in  hearing  the  melodies,  but  be- 
cause tones  can  actually  express  the  passion  of  en- 
treaty and  adoration,  while  the  words  are  hardly 
more  than  a  cold  reminder. 

Music  when  connected  with  words  and  action 
is,  therefore,  more  than  an  intensifier  of  ideas  and 
moods.  It  may  bring  into  relief  conceptions  which 
are  only  suggested  by  the  words  or  inferred  from 
them,  or  even  awake  in  the  hearer's  imagination 
notions  which  seem  to  come  from  a  shadowy  realm 
beyond  the  compass  of  text  and  situation.  Hein- 
rich  Schiitz,  in  the  "Conversion  of  Saul,"  assigns 
the  words  of  the  Redeemer,  "Saul,  Saul,  why  per- 
secutest  thou  me?"  to  successions  of  united  voices, 
rising  from  lower  to  higher,  conveying  an  intima- 
tion of  supcrcarthly  majesty,  together  with  an  in- 
creasing urgency  of  appeal.  The  death-song  of 
Isolde,  in  the  ecstasy  of  its  note  of  triumph,  in  the 
final  pure  sonorous  concords  emerging  from  the 
long  anguish  of  passionately  driven  sequences, 
concentrates  the  struggle  and  rapture  of  the  three- 
act  sublimation  of  love  —  the  acceptance  of  death 
as  the  fuliihnent  of  an  experience  so  much  more 
precious  than  life  that  with  its  close  no  continua- 

222 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

tion  of  life  could  be  accepted.  Neither  the  words 
of  Wagner  nor  any  possible  words  could  be  express- 
ive in  this  manner  or  in  this  degree. 

Such  enlargements  of  thought  are  effected  by 
music  where  language  and  pictures  fail.  In  the 
church,  in  the  opera,  in  oratorio,  in  song,  in  the 
higher  orders  of  programme  music,  tones  cast 
around  the  concrete  image  a  luminous  mist,  in 
which,  as  in  crystal-gazing,  we  catch  revelations 
otherwise  unconceived.  Like  the  inflections,  looks, 
and  gestures  of  an  actor  they  reinforce  the  words 
and  images;  but  they  do  more  than  this,  they 
carry  over  to  the  emotion  a  further  energy  which 
comes  from  the  same  region  in  which  the  poet's 
thought  is  born,  but  whose  ultimate  depths  it  re- 
mains for  music  alone  to  sound. 

XXI 

Go  one  step  farther;  separate  music  from  a 
formal  attachment  to  words,  scenery,  action,  or  con- 
crete images  given  by  a  title  or  programme  —  now, 
because  music  has  abandoned  these  guides  to  exact 
interpretation,  has  that  very  thing  which  was  so 
eloquently  expressive  before  become  unexpressive 
now?  Is  Liszt's  "Les  Preludes"  expressive  be- 
cause it  reflects  a  train  of  poetic  ideas  and  holds 
our  imagination  in  its  grasp,  and  is  Beethoven's 
Fifth  Symphony  unexpressive  because  it  leaves  our 
imagination  hovering  in  the  void  ?  Are  the  means 
of  musical  effect  —  changes  of  pitch,  speed  and 
223 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

volume,  rhythm,  consonance  and  dissonance,  or- 
chestral color  and  all  the  rest,  meaningless  when 
they  stand  apart  from  all  positive,  verifiable,  real- 
istic conceptions  ?  When  our  spirits  are  so  moved 
by  a  stream  of  noble  harmonies  that  all  that  is 
beautiful  and  holy  in  life  seems  for  the  moment 
concentrated  for  our  joyful  contemplation,  are 
these  celestial  visitants  only  a  mockery,  deceiving 
us,  like  the  desert  mirage,  with  a  semblance  of 
truth  which,  when  it  fades,  leaves  nothing  behind 
but  the  memory  of  a  glittering  illusion  ?  This  can 
hardly  be.  Music  is  definite  enough  when  it  takes 
possession  of  language  and  event  and  adds  some- 
thing to  them  which  they  required  to  attain  full 
supremacy  over  us.  We  see  clearly  enough  what 
this  added  element  is  and  the  particular  service 
that  music  performs.  It  could  not  be  so  if  there 
were  no  ground  common  to  the  two  factors,  for 
otherwise  the  titles  of  the  "Pathetic  Symphony" 
and  the  "Pastoral  Symphony"  might  be  exchanged 
without  injustice  to  either.  And  do  we  not  often 
feel  that  music  gains  an  even  firmer  basis  of  expres- 
sion when  it  renounces  the  aid  of  a  confederate  art, 
and  takes  its  stand  in  a  domain  of  feeling  where  it 
can  afford  to  be  exclusive  because  sufficient  unto 
itself  and  supreme?  At  this  point  attempts  at 
analysis  and  demonstration  break  down;  no  less 
do  we  believe  that  these  sounding  forms  which 
excite  and  charm  us  have  a  message  that  tells  of 
a  reahty  otherwise  unknown,  perhaps  the  most 
abiding  of  realities.  The  chief  support  for  this  con- 
224 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

viction  lies  in  the  consciousness  that  when  we  hear 
great  music  it  is  not  one  part  of  our  nature  that  is 
taken  captive  —  as  when  we  come  in  contact  with 
a  picture,  a  tale,  a  play,  which  shuts  off  a  part  of 
life  and  holds  us  to  that  —  but  the  music  is  not 
circumscribed,  it  is  the  circuit  of  our  spiritual  na- 
ture that  is  traversed,  we  are  no  longer  in  the 
presence  of  the  phenomenal  but  the  essential;  it 
is  the  whole  in  us  that  is  embraced,  it  is  the  whole 
in  us  that  rejoices. 

It  needs  no  psychologist  to  tell  us  that  these 
emotions  do  not  pass  as  wind  over  water;    they 
do  not  leave  us  as  we  were  before.    We  may 
suppose  that  we   have    forgotten    the    music  of 
last  year;    to-day,  in  spite  of  the  songs  of  yester- 
eve,  we  go  about  our  humdrum  task  as  though 
they  had  not  been;  nevertheless  there  is  a  vast 
unsounded  tract  below  our   consciousness  where 
every  past  impression  is  stored,  which  receives  an 
imprint  from  every  thought,  mood,  and  act  of  ours, 
where  our  personaUty  has  its  centre.     It  is  said 
that  in  this  subhminal  haunt  all  the  melodies  and 
harmonies  of  the  composer's  creation  lie  inchoate, 
in  germ  or  fragmentary  suspense,  and  that  music 
is  the  one  immediate  expression  of  this  fathomless, 
undemonstrable,  essential  reahty.     We  cannot  tell. 
We  do  believe,  from  evidence  that  seems  potent 
because  it  is  all  within,  that  those  sweet  airs  and 
subUme  concords  which  shake  and  bewilder  our 
hearts  are  not  less  true,  not  less  a  revelation,  be- 
cause it  is  left  to  the  emotion  to  interpret  them  in 
225 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

terms  of  itself,  while  the  logical  faculty,  which  ex- 
plains in  terms  of  verifiable  relations,  is  forever 
baffled. 

XXII 

But  let  us  return  from  this  alluring  chase  after 
explanations  which  we  may  cherish  but  can  never 
prove;  accepting  the  delights  of  music  as  the  as- 
surance of  something  more  than  delight,  can  the 
musical  sense  (using  the  term  in  its  deepest  con- 
notation as  dealing  with  emotional  values  apart 
from  intellectual  values  derived  from  the  study  of 
scientific  principles  and  historic  relationships)  — 
can  this  faculty  which  seems  at  first  thought  to  lie 
below  the  reach  of  methodical  discipline,  be  made 
the  object  of  systematic  development?  Bringing 
forward  again  our  old  comparison  with  the  religious 
sense,  the  answer  may  be  —  yes,  by  means  of  the 
same  method  of  trust  and  experiment.  In  the 
place  which  musical  art  has  held  in  the  great  world's 
life,  and  in  the  experience  of  those  who  have  found 
in  it  a  means  of  refinement  and  emotional  quick- 
ening, one  may  find  ground  of  belief;  and  then 
in  submitting  oneself  to  the  finest  influences  that 
music  affords,  taking  its  masters  as  friends  and 
guides,  a  truth  of  music  may  be  found  which  will 
be  its  own  proof,  and  will  take  its  helpful  place  in 
the  formation  of  character. 

In  the  process  of  increasing  our  susceptibility  to 
the  higher  influence  of  music,  the  influence  we 
226 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

have  in  mind  should  undoubtedly  be  that  of  music 
in  itself  alone  and  not  as  an  adjunct  or  accessory 
to  something  else.  Music  is  certainly  a  powerful 
aid  to  poetry,  action,  religious  inspiration,  etc., 
but  musical  culture  has  something  besides  poetry, 
drama,  reUgion,  and  other  interests  for  its  end. 
Nevertheless  the  object  can  be  attained  by  indirect 
as  well  as  by  direct  means.  Music  owes  so  much 
of  its  power  over  the  mind  to  its  affiliations  that  an 
increased  appreciation  of  what  is  beautiful  and 
vital  in  these  will  count  favorably  in  musical  cul- 
ture. Try  to  cultivate  musical  feeHng  in  a  young 
person  and  nothing  else  —  shut  out  all  the  sweet 
ministries  of  poetry,  art,  nature,  friendship,  stimu- 
late the  musical  imagination  and  no  other  —  would 
the  musical  consciousness,  just  that  alone,  gain  or 
lose  thereby?  The  magnetic  attraction  that  ex- 
ists between  music  and  so  many  other  means  of 
the  expression  of  the  spirit,  proves  their  affinity, 
and  each  factor  in  the  alHance  may  benefit  by  the 
sympathetic  recognition  of  the  other.  Stimulate 
the  love  of  anything  beautiful  and  the  love  of 
music  grows  when  it  is  felt  that  musical  beauty  is 
not  isolated,  but  springs  from  a  common  soil  and 
helps  to  enrich  that  soil.  Every  experience  that 
helps  to  soften  the  heart  and  quicken  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  relation  between  the  individual  soul  and 
the  visible  and  invisible  world  around  it,  will  en- 
hance the  emotional  reaction  to  musical  beauty, 
provided  that  music  is  not  conceived  as  wholly  ab- 
stract, shutting  off  one  part  of  the  mind  from  every 
227 


MUSIC  AND   THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

other,  but  is  felt  as  belonging  in  the  very  essence 
of  life  and  necessary  to  life's  full  expression. 

As  music  has  proceeded  in  its  historic  career 
these  associations  have  accumulated  in  constantly 
increasing  multitude  and  force,  so  that  in  the  nine- 
teenth and  twentieth  centuries  it  would  almost  ap- 
pear as  though  the  very  rationale  of  the  higher 
musical  criticism  must  proceed  along  the  attach- 
ments which  music  throws  out.  If  in  the  seven- 
teenth and  eighteenth  centuries  music  appeared 
divorced  from  the  essential  Hfe  of  the  time,  it  is 
so  no  longer.  Music  has  become  a  vivid  reflection 
of  nationality,  personal  temperament,  spiritual  and 
even  material  tendencies,  a  counterpart  and  ally 
of  all  the  reflective  and  passionate  moods  which 
the  intensely  self-conscious  life  of  the  present  age 
induces.  It  has  become  the  guiding  task  of  mu- 
sical study  on  the  appreciative  side  to  search  beyond 
forms  and  sensuous  impressions,  and  fmd  the  ex- 
planation of  music's  special  character  in  something 
that  existed  before  the  music  and  is  striving  to 
communicate  itself  through  this  almost  infinitely 
flexible  and  suggestive  vehicle. 

It  need  not  be  said  that  all  musical  works  are 
not  so  to  be  interpreted.  To  read  a  representative 
character  into  all  the  products  of  musical  inven- 
tion would  be  to  fail  to  discriminate  among  music's 
various  functions.  It  is  the  broad  and  deep  view 
of  musical  art  in  its  relation  to  the  emotional  hfe 
with  which  we  are  concerned,  for  the  acceptance  of 
this  belief  and  the  pursuit  of  all  the  t/ails  through 
228 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

which  it  leads  produces  a  certain  state  of  mind, 
compounded  of  reverence  and  curiosity,  which 
will  help  to  prepare  a  cordial  acceptance  to  every 
work  of  marked  originality  and  beauty.  This  is 
perhaps  the  most  that  we  can  do  to  increase  the 
activity  of  the  musical  emotion  and  direct  it  to 
profitable  ends,  and  it  is  enough.  Accept  music  as 
expressive  not  in  a  detached  and  petty  way,  but 
in  the  deepest  and  fullest  sense  of  the  term.  Seek 
for  its  background,  its  motive,  the  soul  within  it. 
In  proportion  as  we  feel  love,  pity,  or  admiration 
for  a  certain  composer,  and  as  we  perceive  that  his 
music  is  a  sincere  appeal  for  the  sympathy  of  the 
world,  the  more  will  our  souls  be  fed  and  strength- 
ened by  his  work.  It  will  mean  more  life  to  us 
because  it  contains  life.  So  with  music  that  con- 
veys ideas  of  nationaUty,  of  nature,  of  poetry,  ro- 
mance, the  joys  or  sorrows  of  genuine  humanity. 
Even  in  the  most  absorbed  musical  experience  the 
reason  is  not  utterly  annihilated;  from  the  known 
our  consciousness  leaps  away  to  the  unknown,  and 
this  unknown  assumes  a  positive  shape  and  color. 
All  art  employs  what  is  seen  or  heard  to  bring  to  us 
a  sense  of  what  is  unseen  and  unheard.  That  is 
the  entire  function  of  art  —  of  music  no  less  than 
her  sisters.  Step  by  step  we  may  broaden  Mrs. 
Rogers's  discovery  into  an  allegory.  As  the  voice 
of  an  immature  singer  may  take  on  an  access  of 
purity  and  volume  when  the  mind  is  stimulated  by 
a  supremely  beautiful  model,  so  the  emotional  na- 
ture of  every  Javer  of  music  is  quickened  by  every 
229 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

contact  with  music  that  is  the  sincere  utterance  of 
the  mind  of  a  master. 

All  that  is  needed  is  faith  and  reliance  upon  the 
experience  of  others  as  well  as  upon  one's  own. 
This  faith  it  is  the  business  of  the  instructor  in  the 
appreciation  of  music  to  impart  by  every  means, 
direct  and  indirect,  that  his  wisdom  and  knowledge 
may  suggest.  No  exhortation  to  his  pupils  to  feel 
this  or  that  in  music  will  avail.  His  chief  reliance 
must  be  in  exciting  the  imagination  in  order  that 
it  may  run  out  and  gather  in  the  manifold  causes, 
associations,  stimuli,  moulding  forces,  which,  in 
periods,  nations,  institutions,  and  the  life  and  habit 
of  any  given  composer,  work  to  direct  music  along 
definite  lines  of  expression.  These  efficient  influ- 
ences may  be  found  in  poetry,  religious  systems, 
social  movements,  individual  joys  and  sorrows, 
tastes  and  passions.  Never  can  one  proceed  far 
along  the  track  of  musical  interpretation  without 
finding  somewhere  an  attachment  to  some  phase 
of  life  which  imparts  to  the  music  a  certain  specific 
style,  color,  or  form.  The  biographies  of  composers 
assure  us  that  their  life  of  feeling  is  not  confined 
to  their  special  art,  and  furthermore  that  their 
musical  creation  blends  with  a  flood  of  feeling  which 
runs  back  and  forth  between  the  outer  world  of 
action  and  their  inner  world  of  contemplation  and 
desire.  Let  the  music  lover,  therefore,  live  in 
imagination  the  life  which  the  masters  lived,  try 
to  understand  their  motives  and  the  conditions 
that  directed  their  work,  become  as  their  contem- 

230 


TEACHER  AND  CRITIC 

poraries,  cultivate  the  appreciation  of  everything 
in  art,  nature,  and  human  feeling  which  may  prop- 
erly find  voice  in  musical  strains,  and  he  will  dis- 
cover that  to  understand  is  to  feel,  and  to  feel 
rightly  is  to  love.  Chief  of  all  evidence  to  music's 
reality  and  spiritual  expressiveness  will  be  the  silent, 
irresistible  evidence  that  rises  convincingly  in  the 
heart  as  one  lives  day  by  day  in  the  presence  of 
the  masterpieces  of  creative  genius.  Every  master 
in  art  says  to  us  implicitly  as  Beethoven  said  of 
his  ''Missa  Solemnis":  "It  came  from  the  heart,  to 
the  heart  may  it  go."  The  mind  is  moulded  into 
the  likeness  of  the  things  it  knows  intimately  and 
comes  to  love.  In  art,  as  in  all  the  greatest  things 
in  life,  love  is  the  condition  of  genuine  growth. 
Love  is  the  fulfilment  of  the  intellectual  as  well  as 
of  the  moral  law. 

This,  then,  is  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter. 
We  may  believe  or  we  may  not  believe  that  music 
has  the  power  of  expressing  precise,  definable  emo- 
tions, and  that  therein  is  its  ultimate  purpose.  It 
is  of  little  consequence.  Its  history,  our  knowledge 
of  the  motives  and  experience  of  the  great  com- 
posers, its  influence  upon  the  heart  as  betrayed  in 
the  records  of  all  mankind,  prove  that  it  is  no  mere 
diversion  amid  the  serious  concerns  of  Hfe,  but  is 
itself  a  serious  concern.  The  readiness  with  which 
it  springs  to  the  reinforcement  of  those  other  most 
comprehensive  and  searching  expressions  of  the 
life  of  feeling,  namely  poetry  and  religion,  indicates 
a  close  kinship  with  them  in  source  and  function. 
231 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

"It  is  the  function  of  poetry  and  religion,"  says 
James  Martineau,  "to  rebaptize  us  in  floods  of 
wonder."  The  fact  that  these  two  consummate 
expressions  of  the  life  of  feehng  cannot  long  re- 
main apart  from  music  throws  upon  music  the 
light  that  we  seek  for  its  interpretation.  And  when 
it  puts  forth  its  powers  in  isolation,  in  proud  reli- 
ance upon  itself,  it  still  moves  us  as  nothing  could 
move  us  which  was  not  the  revelation  of  that 
underlying,  perpetual  element  in  human  life,  from 
which  all  particular  emotions  and  activities  spring, 
and  into  which  they  eventually  subside. 

Music  is  interpreted,  in  the  last  resort,  by  the 
same  element  from  which  it  proceeds.  The  appre- 
ciation of  it  in  the  deepest  sense  is  the  result  of  the 
preparation  of  all  the  passageways  by  which  music 
.  gains  access  to  the  understanding  and  the  emotional 
nature  —  most  of  all  the  enrichment  of  the  latter 
by  the  aid  of  every  influence  that  may  make  the 
mind  more  easily  worked  upon  by  that  spirit  of 
Beauty  whose  "priestlike  task  of  pure  ablution" 
is  always  the  same,  whether  it  ministers  in  the  ves- 
ture of  visible  form,  or  color,  or  sound. 

Thus  the  lecturer  on  the  history  and  criticism 
of  music,  by  long  groping  amid  the  mazes  of  his 
own  experience  and  sweeping  over  the  vast  and 
fertile  fields  where  music  has  bloomed  in  the  ages 
of  the  past,  justified  his  work  and  took  renewed 
courage  because  there  had  come  to  him,  as  never 
before,  a  vision  in  which  music  and  life  walked  to- 
232 


TEACHER  AND   CRITIC 

gether  hand  in  hand.  He  had  heard  long  ago  that 
music  is  unreal,  apart  from  life,  shut  within  a 
lonely  sphere  where  spirit  is  lost  to  view,  and  re- 
lationship with  the  intellect  and  truth  a  figment 
of  the  fancy.  But  the  question  came  with  the 
sternness  of  rebuke,  What  is  Reality,  and  what  is 
Life?  Is  it  not  the  grand  function  of  music  to 
correct  and  deepen  our  definition  of  these  entities  ? 
Is  it  possible  to  explain  the  power  of  sound  which 
has  been  cherished  by  mankind  in  direct  propor- 
tion to  the  enlargement  of  knowledge  of  the  higher 
laws  of  nature  and  the  spiritual  life  —  is  it  possible 
to  explain  this  on  any  other  belief  than  that  music 
is  the  voice  of  reaHty,  and  that  in  its  appeal  to  the 
sense,  the  understanding,  and  the  feeling  it  has  a 
necessary  part  to  play  in  education?  That  it  is 
a  source  not  only  of  delight  but  of  benefit  to  all, 
whether  young  or  old,  who  would  five  in  the  larger 
life  of  the  reason? 

"All  music,"  writes  the  "good  gray  poet"  of 
democracy, 

"  is  what  awakes  from  you  when  you  are  reminded  by 
the  instruments. 

"  It  is  not  the  violins  and  cornets,  it  is  not  the  oboe 
nor  the  beating  drums,  nor  the  score  of  the  baritone 
singer  singing  his  sweet  romanza,  nor  that  of  the  men's 
chorus,  nor  that  of  the  women's  chorus. 

"  It  is  nearer  and  farther  than  they." 

When  we  are  beguiled  out  of  ourselves  by  the 
spells  which  music  weaves  around  us,  and  all  our 

233 


MUSIC  AND  THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION 

previous  life  seems  swept  away  and  the  present  is 
a  glorious  dream,  we  are  not  outside  the  soul's 
active  domain.  The  thread  that  binds  this  instant 
life  to  the  constant  is  not  broken.  The  mind  is 
not  only  invigorated,  but  enlightened  —  strength- 
ened too,  for  we  have  been  touched  by  an  effluence 
that  carries  with  it  a  healing  power.  And  so,  with 
the  poet,  as  he  awoke  from  his  vision  of  the  music 
of  the  world,  we  may  say  in  issuing  from  our  trance: 

"  Come,  for  I  have  found  the  clew  I  sought  so  long; 
Let  us  go  forth  refreshed  amid  the  day, 
Cheerfully  tallying  life,  walking  the  world,  the  real, 
Nourished  henceforth  by  our  celestial  dream." 


234 


JAN  28  1946 

^^  , 

JAN  5      1952 
JAN  18  1357 

I^^ZS  1953 

MLM^  mi 


rorm  L  9-15m-7,'82 


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NOV  1^  ^-^       vni 

''f  e  2  5  1981} 


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Music   and 
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